


Trick or Treat

by Erinye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinye/pseuds/Erinye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Late Halloween treat!</em><br/>Modern!AU. Bilbo’s life is a series of mistakes.<br/>First, he means to become a writer but he has taken up an internship at Erebor Inc. at Gandalf’s insistence and now he spends most of his time trying not to make a disgrace of himself.<br/>Second, he wanted to dress up as a werewolf for the Halloween party and he has ended up looking like a <em>guinea pig</em> (Bofur’s words).<br/>Third, he might be (hopelessly) in love with his boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Guinea Pig

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Trick or Treat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341271) by [avivatang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avivatang/pseuds/avivatang)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Уловка или удовольствие](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504026) by [oaken_tree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oaken_tree/pseuds/oaken_tree)



> I’m a bit late for Halloween, I know, but I want to try writing something different from [Theft](http://archiveofourown.org/works/925702/chapters/1799272). This was meant to be a one-shot, but I think it will take two, three chapters at most. I’m not a native speaker, so feel free to point out my errors.  
> Comments are always welcome!
> 
> This story benefits from [Salvia_G](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G)'s precious beta reading. My gratitude to her - and rhubarb tart!
> 
>  
> 
> FAN-ART UPDATE!  
> One of my readers decided to dedicate some of her talent to portray Bilbo in his Halloween costume: [here](http://avivatang.tumblr.com/post/79950047391/my-amazing-friend-dongdong-her-weibo-account) you can admire and reblog it!

“A werewolf? More like a guinea pig,” Bofur said and people around snickered and laughed.

Bilbo was mortified. It was his curse – never being taken for what he really meant to be. On the first day of his internship at Erebor Inc., when Gandalf had presented him to his new boss, Bilbo had been received with cold contempt. _He looks more like a grocer_ , the boss had commented, hardly taking a look at him. Bilbo had tried to explain that actually he was a writer – at least he was trying to work his way to it. But things had got a bit confused at that point, because it seemed that the internship had been meant for a _data analyst_ and – seriously, how could Gandalf have missed that? Gandalf had convinced Bilbo that presenting his application for an internship at Erebor Inc. was a good choice for his – _nonexistent_ , thank you very much – career. Bilbo had expected to be placed in the press office or another position that actually involved writing. As soon as he had understood that they had been looking for a data analyst, Bilbo had felt almost relieved: working for Thorin Oakenshield, after the frosty welcome, had hardly seemed appealing. But Gandalf, probably one of the most strong-willed people Bilbo knew, had worked his magic.

Gandalf had talked Thorin into giving Bilbo the internship despite the obvious fact that Bilbo was not qualified for the job. Gandalf had used to his advantage the fact that Mr Oakenshield actually paid him to give his advice on the company’s business. Bilbo had never really understood the kind of work Gandalf did for Erebor Inc., something between public relations and damage control. To Bilbo Gandalf was just an old family friend who had almost burned down their garden with fireworks once. Gandalf had been dear to his parents and dear to Bilbo in his childhood. He was even dearer now that Bilbo was alone.

At any rate, thanks to Gandalf’s persuasive skills, Bilbo had found himself an intern at Erebor Inc.

Since he could not be employed as a data analyst and there was no place for him in the press office (there was already an intern there), Bilbo had soon become an assistant slash waiter slash jack of all trades. The fact that Bilbo often ended up failing at what was required from him did not keep any of the employees from continuing to ask him to do this and that. It resulted in Bilbo spending most of his working hours panicking about not being able to do as he was asked, struggling with the obsolete terminal they had assigned to him and trying not to get too enamoured with his boss. Yes, there was also _that_. And it was not amusing.

Luckily, Erebor Inc. employed a good number of friendly workers. Teasing, but friendly. And Bilbo, after seven months working there, had to admit that it was not really that bad. Apart from Bilbo’s unfortunate tendency to drop things. Apart from the countless times Thorin asked him to bring a cup of tea to his office – oh my, that man practically _lived_ on tea and he apparently thought Bilbo a waiter rather than a grocer. And apart from the fact that Bilbo Baggins, intern, was falling for his boss.

Was there any chance to make himself more miserable? Yes, there was and Bilbo had not missed it, oh no.

Bilbo had chosen to dress up in a werewolf costume for the Halloween party, thinking that a classic monster was bound to be cool and safe. But something had gone wrong – well, he might have suspected it when he had been forced to look for a child’s size in the costume shop. The costume was quite good, a sort of brown furry suit completed by a hood with wolfish ears and a little tail dangling from his back. Bilbo had thought it looked nice on him and he had even painted his nose black and hidden his curls under the hood. But Bilbo was looking for _somewhere-near-scary_ and instead he had ended up with _utterly-embarrassing_. He did not want to look like a guinea pig. Not when trapped in a party Thorin would join any minute now.   

Bofur was now patting his back, maybe with a bit too much strength.

“Now, now, lad, don’t pout,” he teased Bilbo, still grinning.

“Not pouting,” Bilbo replied, shrugging Bofur’s hand away.

Bilbo was anxiously scanning the room to see if there was some chance to slip away and rid himself of the costume before Thorin’s arrival. He saw Ori, the press office intern, in the hand-made costume no one had really understood (some painter? A guy covered in blood?), waving at him and Bilbo smiled back. Then he repeated the same exchange with Mr Oín, who was much closer to him than Ori, but he was half deaf – they said Mr Oín faked his deafness in order to listen to what he liked, but he was kind to Bilbo and his orders were always easy to follow. Actually the people working for Erebor Inc. were not a bad lot. On the contrary, they made a very good team and they had accepted Bilbo, more or less. They exploited him a bit and Bilbo suspected that his inability to say “no” was a reason - and their amusement at seeing him stuttering and stumbling while trying so hard was another. But they were funny and Bilbo thought of some of them as friends now; Bofur, for example, despite his _guinea pig_ comment.

Erebor Inc. was a company that basically worked by making money from money, investing in a variety of industries and fields; it was quite spectacular how much these guys valued a good party. Bilbo had always imagined this kind of world too competitive and cruel for his taste, but Erebor Inc. ran on a different path. Yes, they often were overworked and their boss had probably forgotten how to smile, but the overall atmosphere was friendly and the employees seemed to consider themselves almost a family. No, it was not bad; and Bilbo enjoyed the parties. Birthday parties, parties to celebrate victories against a rival corporation, parties for the wives, husbands and children of the people working at Erebor Inc., even a midsummer party! Seriously, it seemed that there was always a good reason to celebrate. The parties could be quite wild; but more often they involved a lot of talking, laughing, dancing and even singing. And food, plenty of food. Bilbo appreciated the food, but also the company; he had grown quite fond of the noisy, lively parties among his co-workers. They usually held the parties in the office basement, where a large room was reserved just for that. Bilbo himself had helped Ori with the decorations for the Halloween party, spending some time there in the last few weeks after the office had closed.

“What are you? A squirrel?” Nori asked, looking at Bilbo with a sharp smile.

Bilbo’s cheeks grew red and he shook his head. Nori wore a fake gold tooth and was dressed as a very convincing pirate. He was one of Ori’s older brothers and he actually did not work for Erebor Inc., but he sometimes offered his services to the company (whatever that meant). Anyway he never missed a party.

“He’s a guinea pig,” Bofur replied, chuckling.

“A werewolf!” protested Bilbo, but his voice was drowned out by Beorn’s loud one.

“A bunny - you look exactly like a little brown bunny,” the huge man declared and tapped his fingers on the top of Bilbo’s head, right between the fake ears. Mr Beorn was an important business partner for Erebor Inc. and he had taken a sort of liking in Bilbo – in other words, he liked to compare him to a bunny. Usually in Thorin’s presence.

Bilbo should have guessed that Mr Beorn would not have missed the opportunity to call him _little bunny_ and sighed.

“I have a tail. A long tail. Guinea pigs and bunnies do not have long tails,” Bilbo said dryly.

“But squirrels do,” Nori intervened, giving a little tug to Bilbo’s tail. The poor intern squeaked.

“From the sounds coming from your mouth I would bet you’re a duck!” Bofur commented, his grin made scary by the greenish zombie makeup he had applied to his face. “But I should check...”

Bofur replied Nori’s gesture and Bilbo moved his hands to his bum, trying to defend his tail from the amused assault of the two scoundrels.

“Don’t touch my tail!” Bilbo protested, trying to back away in the most dignified way possible.

But he was Bilbo Baggins, and awkwardness was his area of expertise. He bumped into something, something that felt like someone very tall and very handsome and very Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo did not even need to turn around: he closed his eyes and waited for the _Voice_ – yes, Bilbo might have cultivated the habit of using the capital letter when referring to Thorin’s deep, toes-curling delicious voice.

“Stop harassing the intern’s tail,” the boss said curtly and Bilbo, not for the first time, wondered if Thorin knew his real name. He always called him _intern_.

Nori said nothing; Bofur coughed; but Beorn was not easily impressed, even by Thorin, and chuckled.

“Looks like the bunny is more scared by you than by your employees, Thorin,” he commented and Bilbo realised that he had been frozen on the spot, his back to Thorin’s chest. He took a leap forward, turned around and felt his cheeks aflame. Thorin cast him a quick glance, frowned and then moved his attention elsewhere. Oh, now Bofur and Nori were trying to suppress another laugh and Bilbo heard Nori whispering _someone’s interested in Thorin’s tail_. The joke was gross and too easy to read, considering that Thorin’s costume did not involve any tail: Thorin was a _vampire_.

A ruthless, cold predator. It seemed extremely appropriate to Bilbo. Now, only a few paces away from the point where Thorin was exchanging some words with Beorn about a possible new investment, Bilbo looked at his boss and felt the familiar pang of longing in his chest. Thorin was handsome, in a sort of rough way. Tall, broad-shouldered, with long dark hair he always kept in a low ponytail and touches of grey to his temples, Thorin was around forty, about a dozen years older than Bilbo – who, by the way, looked far younger and it was probably one of the reasons people at Erebor Inc. sometimes treated him like a pet. On the contrary, Thorin looked every inch the powerful and mature man he was, with his sharp features and his thick beard. He moved and spoke in a way that made Bilbo feel like he had just swallowed thousands of butterflies and his blood had been replaced with fire and honey. His flesh ached, his bones ached, his stupid, silly, naive heart ached. Bilbo, luckily, did not believe in love at first sight, then he had refused to fall in love with Thorin during their first meeting, despite how handsome his boss had looked. But he had called him _a_ _grocer_ and he had seemed an arrogant prick, so Bilbo had been more than willing to ignore the fact that Thorin was so tall and his eyes so blue.

But then Bilbo had started working for him and things had got worse. Thorin was a demanding boss, but he was hardly unjust or altogether disrespectful. He was a bit rude sometimes, but always from impatience or with good cause and never to harass his employees; he did not need to make a show of his power – the man radiated authority and his orders were never ignored. He worked as hard as the least of his employees and Bilbo had discovered that he had re-established the family fortune after a bad turn of events during his college years. Thorin had quit college and started taking the humblest jobs to help his family after his father’s death; he had worked his way up, until he had taken Erebor Inc. back and he had made it even bigger and richer than ever. When his oldest employees, like Balin or Oin, talked about those times, Bilbo suspected that they considered Thorin Oakenshield nothing short of a hero. He was surely someone worth of admiration.

But what had really caught Bilbo’s interest was the fact that his boss spent his lunch time reading. Bilbo had been a bit confused when that Thorin would join them in the lunch area rather than taking his meals in some fancy restaurant near the company building. But he was even more astonished that someone could not give his full attention to the meal – the dishes served there were quite good and the cook, Bombur, the largest guy Bilbo had ever seen. Then Bilbo had guessed that probably Thorin had hardly any time for reading except that hour spent in the lunch area. Bilbo had taken the habit of spying to try to see the titles of the books Thorin was reading and had discovered that he preferred old classics – English, Russian and French especially – but sometimes he came up with a fantasy novel. Bilbo had fantasized about approaching his boss and talking with him about books. He had actually marched towards his table a couple of times, but he had lost all his courage as soon as Thorin’s blue eyes had seen him approach. And then Bilbo had stuttered some excuse, making a fool of himself and evidently displeasing his boss.

A handsome boss had been easy to deal with, but a handsome boss fond of reading had proven to be harder to dismiss. Besides, during the parties that had taken place during the first seven months of Bilbo’s internship, he had noticed other aspects of Thorin’s character. He was not too sociable but neither he was as ill-tempered as Bilbo had thought him at the beginning: Thorin took pleasure in the celebrations and he seemed to consider giving his employees this kind of entertainment really important. He was not as cold-hearted as he appeared and his speech for the birth of Gloin’s child had been truly moving and gentle. Thorin Oakenshield had slowly become someone Bilbo would like to spend his time with. He liked the idea of being allowed to touch his cheeks and his hair, and the idea of talking with him by the coffee machine, and being able to hold his hand. Taking Thorin to his favourite bookshop and giving him books and flowers from his garden. Getting to know how Thorin looked while asleep. Doing the silly, warm things lovers do.

Now, looking at Thorin in his vampire costume, Bilbo felt hopeless.

Thorin’s hair was shining black, neatly tucked in a low tail. He had not shaven his beard, but this made the sight of the fake vampire teeth even more striking when they flashed white between his thin lips. He was dressed in black tailored trousers and a purple brocade waistcoat (a bit too tight on his large chest). The ensemble was completed by a long black coat and a cane with a silver handle shaped as a wolf’s head. Thorin seemed as if he had just stepped out from some gothic novel and he obviously looked even more gorgeous than usual, making Bilbo’s head a bit light. He reminded himself that Thorin was his boss and he was an intern and Thorin did not even know his name, for heaven’s sake! Thorin had accepted him just to please Gandalf and he probably thought him a burden, a dull boy who excelled at nothing and whose look was hardly worth noticing.

Bilbo’s self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by a blond woman marching towards Thorin and hitting the back of his head with her hand. Thorin, caught by surprise, gasped and turned on his heels.

“Dís!” he grumbled, massaging his nape with a dark frown upon his face. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You idiot,” she spat, looking ready to hit him again. “Stop working. You are at a party and you promised me you would get some rest. You look tired and nervous and I won’t take anymore brooding and back talking from you this week. And you, Mr Beorn, you should know better than allow my stupid, beastly darling of a brother to keep you busy talking business even on Halloween. Go, amuse yourself, go dancing and singing and scaring some ladies, dear Mr Beorn.”

Beorn complied, laughing so hard that he risked tripping over his own ghost costume – a very, very large sheet that Nori could probably steal and use to sail his pirate ship. Bofur had disappeared somewhere in the crowd and Bilbo had been left alone close to the carved pumpkins. He pretended to be interested in them, but he peered at Thorin and his sister from time to time.

Everyone in Erebor Inc. knew Dís. She had a good share in the company but she preferred to work as an architect and leave to Thorin the management of Erebor Inc. Nonetheless she loved paying visits to Erebor Inc. and harassing her brother in front of his employees. It was amusing the way Thorin seemed always at a loss in his sister’s presence and Bilbo actually would have felt for him, if the sight of Thorin scolded and mistreated by his blond, charming sister had not been so amusing and refreshing. Besides, Dís was quite bossy to anyone but she was strangely kind to Bilbo and she even called him by name: Bilbo felt somehow compelled to be on her side.

“You’re frightening my guests, Dís,” Thorin was saying.

“Oh, they don’t run away screaming from you on a daily basis; I guess they will bear my presence,” she replied, adjusting the leather bodice of her dress – she was a Viking warrior with a fake axe dangling from her hips; she had also braided her hair and she wore metal bracelets at her wrists. “But who’s that? Bilbo Baggins!” Dís exclaimed, just when Bilbo was trying to slip away unseen and trying some dancing to keep himself from thinking how _edible_ Thorin looked.

Bilbo froze and cast a glance over his shoulder. Dís was grinning; Thorin looked annoyed. There was no way to ignore Dís and Bilbo was too polite anyway to avoid paying his compliments to the boss’s sister. He reached them and let Dís look at him from head to feet.

“What a lovely costume, Bilbo!” she said, clasping his hands and forcing him to pirouette to show the dress, back and front. “And you have a tail,” she commented, making Bilbo blush once more. He did not dare to look at Thorin. “You look _delicious_ in this werewolf costume. Doesn’t he, Thorin?” Dís asked, her eyes shining with mischief.

Bilbo snapped his hands away from Dís’s grasp, but the woman grinned even more. His boss looked utterly displeased and seemed almost choking for a moment – Bilbo expected him to shout, but Thorin just gritted his teeth and said nothing. At least Dís had got Bilbo’s costume right and he felt quite happy about it. Until he realised that Dís probably was more acquainted with children costumes and Bilbo’s mood fell again.

“Thank you,” he murmured anyway. “You also look very good like a Viking,” Bilbo said more heartily. Dís smiled, Thorin frowned – all seemed to proceed as ever. 

“Oh, where...” Dís said, suddenly. “Kíli! Fíli!” she called loudly and gave Bilbo a smile. “They were looking forward to see you again,” she confessed, a moment before two little boys run into them, one falling into Dís arms and the other bumping against Thorin’s legs.

The older, Fíli, was ten years old and blond as his mother. He embraced Dís without embarrassment, then straightened himself, already quite tall for his age, and adjusted the little crown over his head. He had both his hands smeared with red paint and looked at Bilbo expectantly.

“Macbeth?” Bilbo guessed and Fíli rewarded him with the same charming smile as his mother.

“Me too, me too!” came Kíli’s plea. The younger of Dís’s children was six and he was dark of hair and eyes, but his features were soft and his voice sweet. Thorin had been tickling him and the child squirmed and laughed in his uncle’s arms. It was quite simple to guess Kili’s costume, but Bilbo pretended to think about it as he had done about Fíli’s.

“Robin Hood?”

“Gosh, Mr Boggins, you are the cleverest clever in the world!” Kíli decided, blushing with pleasure.

“He’s Baggins, Kíli,” Fíli reproached him, then he turned on Bilbo and cleared his voice. “We have our pumpkin bags with us. Would you like to help us fill them?” he asked, politely. Fíli was going through a phase where it pleased him to behave with princely generosity and a bit of haughtiness.

Bilbo heard Thorin’s amused snort at Fíli’s attitude, but nodded. Kíli looked up at his uncle, his big, chocolate eyes filled with expectations.

“Uncle Thorin, can you come with us and Mr Boggins?” he asked, tugging at his coat. Thorin looked at his nephew for a moment, then he raised his eyes. Bilbo lowered his gaze immediately, avoiding Thorin’s eyes, and busied himself with something on his furry sleeve.

“Later, maybe,” Thorin answered gently and let Kíli join Fíli at Bilbo’s side.

“If they bother you...” Dís started, but Bilbo interrupted her, glad to have an excuse to divert his attention from Thorin and the fact that he did not wish to spend mere moments in his company, not even at his own nephew’s request.

 “It’s fine. We’re going to have fun, aren’t we boys? I know just the story to scare you...” he promised and took their hands in his, to guide them to the candy bars and chocolate and sugar bats he and Ori had prepared for the children. The music had grown louder and there were more people dancing. Bofur was on the table singing a song children should probably not listen to, but Bilbo found a quiet corner for him and the children and he brought them orange juice and pumpkin muffins.

Fíli and Kíli were amazing children. Bilbo had met them during the first visit Dís had paid to Thorin after the beginning of Bilbo’s internship. Their mother and uncle had engaged in some heated discussion and Dís had decided to leave the children in Bilbo’s care, probably because he looked harmless enough and his desk was quite close to Thorin’s office. Bilbo had always been good with children and he had spent his time with Fíli and Kíli chatting and drawing. When Dís had returned to pick them up and she had found Kíli half asleep and Fíli listening to some tale Bilbo had just invented she had looked at Bilbo strangely.

The next time Dís had returned to Erebor, she knew Bilbo’s full name, his office role and even where he lived. Bilbo had been a bit taken aback by Dís’s attention but he had soon understood that, as a single mother, Dís was very protective towards her sons and their enthusiasm for Mr Boggins had kindled her interest. Now, every time Dís brought the children with her she let them play with Bilbo for some time. Bilbo had been a bit worried that Thorin would object to that, but the boss had said nothing of it.

It was easy to see how much Thorin loved those children. He was very fond of his sister, despite their constant bickering, and he showed much tenderness towards Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo had spotted Thorin playing with the children several times and he had found his laughter so endearing in those occasions, his playfulness so riveting, that he had found himself ridiculously attracted to _Uncle Thorin_.

Sharing a couch with the boys and entertaining them with some scary tales of his own invention, Bilbo tried to forget about his hopeless crush and his misinterpreted costume, focusing instead on having a good time at the party. And things got better – Fíli and Kíli were a very passionate audience and Bilbo felt quite proud of his last tale (he had entitled it “The Guinea Pig and the Haunted House”). By the end of the story Kíli, his lips covered in crumbs and chocolate, was sighing happily and cuddling up against Bilbo’s side. Fíli was taking some photos of the party with the camera Thorin had given him for his last birthday and he also took a photo of Bilbo and his brother, half blinding them with the flash. Kíli rubbed his eyes and then looked at his empty paper cup.

“Uncle Bilbo, I’m thirsty. Can I have more juice?”

Bilbo’s heart leapt in his chest. _Uncle Bilbo_. Kíli had never called him in that way before. Nor Fíli. But neither of them seemed conscious of it and Bilbo found himself nodding distractedly. It was stupid being happy for something like that – Kíli was six and probably he had been taught to call all the adults he happened to meet and talk to outside the family _uncle_. It had nothing to do with Uncle Thorin and it did not mean that there was a possibility for Bilbo to become Thorin’s boyfriend or whatever. Still, it was sweet and Bilbo instinctively hugged Kíli tighter.

“Ugh, I’m _very_ thirsty,” the child insisted. Bilbo laughed and got up.

“Fine. I’m going to refill your cup,” he replied, before facing the crowd.

The music had just stopped and Bilbo heard Mr Dwalin’s laugh somewhere close. The dancing couples were turning to the bar in search of refreshment and Bilbo saw Dís coming towards them. He waved.

“Your mother is coming,” he said to the children, “keep her company while I’m hunting for orange juice and maybe a bit of rhubarb tart, would you like that?”

The children’s cheers sounded approving enough and Bilbo was still smiling when he turned towards the bar and saw _it_. They had been hidden from him before, concealed by the dancing crowd. But now he could see them clearly, on a couch not far from that where Bilbo had been playing with Fíli and Kíli, completely unaware of how Thorin was spending his time at the party. Now Bilbo had to admit that his boss was clearly following Dís’s advice and enjoying himself.

_Thoroughly_.

There was no other way to describe how Thorin’s tongue was exploring the mouth of the courier. Bilbo had seen the boy many times in the office but he did not remember his name and in truth he was not even sure that he was really him. Bilbo could only focus on Thorin’s big hands closed on the boy’s hips and how he was devouring his mouth. The boy’s cheeks were red and Thorin had his back against the couch, the boy almost climbing in his lap. Not that Thorin seemed to mind at all. It looked obscene and gritty and Bilbo felt his eyes burn, the image of his boss kissing the courier boy branding itself into of his mind. Bilbo was grateful for the noise preventing him from hearing what sounds the boy was making, the smack of their mouths crushing one against the other, Thorin’s rasp breath.

The music started again and Bilbo realised he was holding his breath. He coughed, his throat dry and an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He heard Kíli calling him and the weight of Fíli’s eyes on him. He smiled, but it hurt him and he stopped immediately.

“I’m really sorry boys,” Bilbo said, looking at his shoes, “but I’ve just remembered there’s something I need to do and I should really leave now. Have...have fun,” he babbled to the disappointed children.

Kíli looked ready to throw a tantrum, but Fíli only frowned, resembling his uncle so much that Bilbo had to bite his tongue. Then Fíli pushed his pumpkin bag filled with candy in Bilbo’s hands.

“If you must leave, take this. I’ll fill another,” the boy offered, his fake crown slipping again from his head.

Bilbo would have gladly remained with the children, letting their hearts warm his, but he simply thanked Fíli and promised to himself to make amends to Kíli another time. Dís had just reached them: Bilbo babbled something about a previous appointment and excused himself before the woman could even try to understand what he was saying, and then he stumbled into the crowd.  

 

“What was that about?” Dís wondered aloud, when Bilbo had disappeared in the crowd.

She fell on the couch between her sons and groaned. She had danced quite wildly in Nori’s company, something that was bound to annoy her brother – this being one of the reasons she had conceded two rounds on the dance floor to the pirate, Nori’s dry humour another. But now Dís’s feet were screaming in her high boots and she needed some rest. She had actually looked forward to spending some time with her boys and Mr Baggins. She wanted to know more of the man and he always seemed more at ease when her children were around. But Bilbo had practically run away and Dís was not in the mood to hunt for him, not on heels.

“So?” she asked, looking at Fíli and then at Kíli, who was pouting. “Have you annoyed Mr Baggins?”

“No!” Fíli almost shouted, indignant. “Mr Baggins was having fun, mum,” he muttered. “He just said he had to leave.”

“What a pity,” Dís sighed and cleaned Kíli’s mouth with a paper napkin – the always mindful Bilbo had prepared a stack of napkins on the couch.

“Where’s Uncle Thorin?” Kíli asked, once his lips were cleaned and his green hat straight on his head.

“There,” Fíli replied, making a vague gesture.

Dís followed her son’s lifted arm and she found her brother. She put her hand over Kili’s eyes, to be sure that her younger child would not be treated with the sight of his uncle practically fucking someone’s mouth. Then she sighed and, Dís being the intuitive one in the family, she reached the only logical conclusion.

At least now Bilbo’s flight seemed reasonable.  

“Fíli, darling, take your brother to Mr Ori. Do you see him near the skeleton? Why don’t you give him the fright of his life?” she suggested and Fíli grinned, taking Kíli’s hand.

“Come on, Kíli, let’s see if we can make Mr Ori scream,” Fíli said, making Kíli giggle enthusiastically.

Dís smiled, feeling her heart swell with pride for her children. They had taken after her, obviously. She ruffled Kíli’s hair and adjusted the blue cape on Fíli’s shoulders.

“Go, darlings. Mum is going to say _rude things_ to your uncle,” she announced fiercely.


	2. The Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleeing from the Halloween party and from Thorin kissing the courier boy, Bilbo ends up in a haunted house.  
> Yeah, Bilbo is still wearing the werewolf costume.  
> And no, still no one gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for kudos, comments and bookmarks!
> 
> This second chapter arrives a bit later than I thought, since I've given priority to publishing the new chapters of [Theft](http://archiveofourown.org/works/925702/chapters/1799272) and answering to the comments. But I'm already making plans for the third (and probably last) chapter. In the meantime I hope you'll appreciate this update and every kind of comment will be truly welcomed. 
> 
> I remind you that this story benefits from [Salvia_G](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G)'s, a most amazing beta reader and author.

The house had been built twenty years before, but it seemed much older.

At the time it had been probably meant to look fashionable with its steep roofs and the stained glass windows, but now the house just seemed out of place among the tall modern buildings surrounding it. It was not even reassuringly ugly. It gave the impression that its architect had changed his mind on which style adopt one too many times and the house had ended up looking like many different houses openly despising each others. There was a little turret ending in a pinnacle that seemed taken from a Gothic cathedral – Bilbo often wondered if it was just possible that the owner had actually stolen bits from other buildings. There was a large wooden porch where cats used to keep their meetings at night and a bow window covered in crimson vines; more windows, hardly one similar to another; and a flight of stairs where it should not have been; metal spikes over the garden walls and at the top of the roofs; a ruined chimney.

The house was deformed, defying logic and aesthetic at the same time. If houses had personalities, this particular house would definitely be someone you would not want to meet. Ever.

The house was not ugly. It was _nasty_.

Bilbo saw the house every day on his walk from the bus stop to Erebor Inc. and back. He looked at the house and he had the unpleasant impression that the house looked back at him. He had developed the habit of keeping his eyes low when he passed before it, but he felt the house’s gaze digging at the back of his head. Obviously Bilbo was not scared: he just did not like the house and the house seemed to return his sentiment; he walked a little faster if he happened to finish later at work and found himself alone on the street.

Besides, Bilbo’s aversion for the house was hardly an exception: no one he knew liked it. The house was a token of worse times; a reminder of twenty years before, when Erebor Inc. had been in Smaug’s hands. Mr Smaug had taken the company from Thorin’s father and grandfather, whose rather risky investments had brought Erebor Inc. on the verge of bankruptcy. Smaug had bought it for nothing and the circumstances of his rise had been so humiliating and painful to Thorin’s family that both his father and grandfather had been taken ill and died in a brief span of time. Mr Smaug had never been loved at Erebor Inc. and he had soon fired everyone who seemed even remotely loyal to the past. His leadership had been aggressive and cruel, his way of conducting business barely legal. For nine years Smaug had been the most dreaded man in town and many families ascribed their afflictions to him.

Then Thorin Oakenshield had set himself on reclaiming Erebor. He had faced Smaug when no one else had the courage to do it, armed with stubborn determination. Thorin had grown into a bitter, hard man, but he had been able to win the loyalty of some of his father’s ex employees and then he had chosen a bunch of good associates to start with. Two years they had fought - but to Thorin the battle had been fought since his father’s death. Thorin had patiently undermined Smaug’s credibility; it was said that even the exposure of some of Smaug’s crimes had been Thorin’s work and soon Smaug had found himself in troubles with the justice system. He had avoided prison, but his power had been severely weakened in the process. One day Thorin Oakenshield had just walked in Smaug’s office, the same office where his grandfather and father had sit, and he had offered to buy Erebor Inc. at the same price Smaug had bought it eleven years before.

This Bilbo knew from Balin and from the newspapers of those years – Bilbo might have been interested in reading them to understand who Thorin Oakenshield was and see how he looked in the old photos; he might also have spent some Saturday afternoon mooning over the photos in the newspapers archive.

The house at the end of the street, less than five minutes walking from Erebor Inc., had been Smaug’s. Smaug had wanted his house built in Erebor’s sight and he had spent a lot of money on it. It was difficult to decide if Smaug was simply lacking in taste or if he had enjoyed the idea of a house radiating malevolence, but his personal history obviously contributed to the sinister reputation of the building. After Erebor had fallen back into Thorin’s hands and Smaug had found himself broken and despised, the house had been the only property left to him: he had retired inside its walls and then he had gone mad, if ever he had been sane. He had spent the following years terrorizing the neighbourhood, lurking in the streets at night singing nasty songs of blood and fire, shouting his threats to Thorin Oakenshield and all his kin, sometimes just spying the passers-by from a window. Then, consumed by his hatred for Thorin and obsessed by the idea of having lost almost the whole amount of his wealth, Smaug had tried to set fire to the house and himself.

The firemen had rescued him in time (he and the house suffered just minor injuries), but Smaug had kept cursing Thorin’s name while they were carrying him away. He had been admitted to the nearest psychiatric hospital some miles out of town and he had never been seen since. He had grown into the boogeyman parents used to scare their children to bed, a frightful tale all newcomers in town learned sooner or later; while his house stood there, rotting and festering like an old wound in the flesh of the town. The house had never been pleasant to look at, but it had got even worse after Smaug’s decline, as reflecting his increasing madness. Now, abandoned and empty, the house had become an eerie presence at the corner of Bilbo’s eyes.

“You, the young man with the hamster costume!”

Bilbo blushed furiously, while an entire group of teenagers dressed as vampires and zombies turned to stare at him.  

“It’s not- it’s a werewolf costume!” he protested, but no one seemed easily convinced, least of all the man at the gate of Smaug’s house.

“Whatever,” said the man, shrugging. He wore a skeleton make up under a black top hat and he was dressed as a ring master, in red and gold. “Do you want a ticket for the _Haunted House_?” he asked. “Come on, take a look at the madman’s house. Do you know who lived here? Smaug the Magnificent! Smaug the Golden!” the ring master announced, in a booming voice. Bilbo could bet he had made up the nicknames himself, but they strangely fit the character and the rumours about the richness he had accumulated in his house. “Have you enough courage to search the house for Smaug’s hidden treasure? I promise you will be scared out of your wits! No one?” the man insisted, looking now at the teenagers and a couple of witches walking by.

It had been Thorin’s idea, more or less. After Smaug had been committed to psychiatric care, the house had been scheduled for demolition, but Thorin had stepped in, bought the house and then _nothing_. He just owned it. It seemed like Thorin was waiting for the house to fall on his own foundations, to crumble and vanish from the sight of Erebor Inc.

At least until a couple of months ago, when Thorin had rented out the house to the fair people. They had been planning to transform Smaug’s house in an attraction, a proper _haunted house_ filled with mechanical toys and scary tunes. On what looked like a whim, Thorin had accepted their offer and since then they had been working to open on Halloween.

“No, thank you,” Bilbo refused, shaking his head.

He had walked in the middle of the Halloween celebration taking place in the town square. He had tried to lose himself in the crowd and to drown the image playing and replaying in his head in the chaos of costumes and masks and childish screams. He had smelled cotton candy and roast chestnut, people had bumped into him, and someone had even taken him for a child and put chocolate bars in his hands. With his parka over the werewolf costume and Fíli’s pumpkin bag in his hand, Bilbo had wandered like a ghost, trying to stop thinking about Thorin. He had hoped that the colours and lights and noises of the fair would have cleared his head, but it all seemed distant.

Bilbo knew he should not feel this way and Thorin did not owe him anything, yet his heart – his graceless heart – betrayed him and hurt him in ways he had never experienced before, showing him glimpses of Thorin in the crowd, Thorin with the boy in his arms, Thorin kissing the boy, Thorin taking the boy to his home to make love to him.

Following the crowd’s motions Bilbo had suddenly found himself before Smaug’s house and, for the first time in months, he had taken a good look at it, trembling slightly in his costume at the sight of the dark windows staring back at him. He surely did not need to visit Smaug’s house; he had been shocked enough for the night. But, while he was watching the ring master trying to attract more customers, something snapped inside Bilbo’s head. He took out his wallet, walked over to the man and bought a ticket for the Haunted House. _Sod off_ , Bilbo thought. He was sad and he was angry – it made him reckless.

“There you go, young man,” the ring master smiled, showing a crown of blackened teeth. “But _beware_ ,” he added, looming over Bilbo but not quite touching him. “There’s word that the madman had escaped from the psychiatric ward and he’s trying to get back to the treasure he buried in his house. What would Smaug do if he discovered a burglar in his lair?”

Bilbo shrugged and passed the open gates, but his heart was beating a little faster while he crossed the little front garden. Obviously the ring master was lying – Smaug was secured in the psychiatric hospital, and the man just knew his job and was trying to frighten him. _Being scared_ was exactly the point, wasn’t it? Except that Bilbo was not _really_ into horror. He liked a good horror book and from time to time even an horror film, as long as there was someone next him on the couch; but Bilbo was hardly fond of danger and fear. He knew he was acting out of character, deciding to head up for a house he had never considered appealing, but anxiety lessened the pain and maybe he would end up frightened out of his stupid crush. Maybe some of Smaug’s hatred for Thorin Oakenshield could rub off on him and temper his feelings.

The front garden was invaded by weeds and covered in a fine mist – Bilbo heard the soft buzz of a smoke machine somewhere. They had planted some fake tombstones here and there and the porch’s steps creaked under Bilbo’s shoes despite his light pace, but he made to the front door quite easily. He had expected to be welcomed by some nasty surprise on his entrance – a puppet covered in blood, a fake axe taking a swing for his head... – but none of this happened: Bilbo entered Smaug’s house and there was nothing but thick darkness.

At the sound of the door closing behind him Bilbo shuddered and when he tried the door again he found it closed. He should have expected this: the visitor had to complete the tour before reaching the exit; this was how it worked usually and there was no reason to be upset by it. Still, it gave Bilbo chills, like he had just been trapped inside the house – and this was not the case, not at all: he had paid for this.

Bilbo’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the mid-shadows. He could see that he was in a sort of large atrium, dominated by a grandiose flight of stairs covered in dust and cobwebs. Various doors opened on both sides. Bilbo took a step and a couple of lamp turned on, their greenish light enough to freeze him with the sight of blood covering the wallpaper on his right. These words Bilbo read on the wall: _The thief must burn_ – it was written in shaky letters, in the red-brown colour of dried blood. The carpet under the wall was stained as well. Bilbo swallowed and shook his head. The fair people had worked well. He had expected scary puppets and high pitched screams, but this eerie atmosphere was even worse and it fitted the house as much as Bilbo’s fears. It frightened him in a subtle way, leaving his mind to imagine horrors and to fear even the sound of his own breath. _Am I the only visitor?_ , Bilbo wondered, trembling a bit at the idea of being alone in the great house. He would have really appreciated Bofur’s jokes to laugh away his increasing apprehension.

“Don’t be a coward,” he said aloud, pushing himself towards the first door on his left.

He tried the door handle, but it did not bulge. It did not seem closed, though. It was like someone was on the other side of the door and was trying to prevent Bilbo from opening it. As soon as he realised it, Bilbo let go of the handle and took a step back. He watched in horror as the door was slowly disclosed and the sight of a shadow falling on the carpet put him in such a fright that he run to the next door. This one opened immediately and Bilbo almost tripped on his own feet in the haste of entering the room and closing the door behind him.

The room was bathed in red light. It came from a couple of bulbs hanging from the ceiling and painted everything in a veil of blood. Bilbo was with his back plastered to the door, listening to the sounds coming from the atrium. Steps. They approached, and then they left. Another visitor? Bilbo felt a bit ridiculous with his flight and he was on the point of opening the door again and return to the atrium, when a detail caught his eyes. _Thorin_. The photo seemed recent and portrayed him just outside Erebor Inc. Bilbo had seen it already, on the newspaper some months ago – Thorin wore a blue shirt matching his eyes, and a stern expression. His shirt’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing strong, hairy forearms. It was a good photo. The kind Bilbo would be staring at for a long time. The kind that would give Bilbo inappropriate thoughts about his boss. But, in the haunted house, under the red light, the photo scared Bilbo. He quickly looked around and he saw that the walls were covered in photos and articles cut from the newspapers, all of them portraying Thorin. Some older, some recent. But Thorin was everywhere and sometimes his face had been scratched away or covered in black and red ink. And there were more writings. _Kill_. _Burn_. _Eviscerate_. Bilbo brought a hand to his mouth and moaned.

This was bad taste. Definitely bad taste. Almost criminal. Thorin surely did not know about it; he could not approve of this, using his name and his history with Smaug to frighten people and make money. Bilbo shivered, looking once again at the photos and wondering if Smaug had really nurtured such an obsession for Thorin. The room was obviously a fake, but it was credible and it seemed to match the character: _Smaug the madman_ collecting every bit of newspapers portraying Thorin Oakenshield, his sworn enemy, the man responsible for his fall. It left Bilbo nauseous and he wished to get out of the house as soon as possible: he wanted to go home, take off his damned costume, make himself some hot chocolate and then slip under the blankets, hoping in a merciful sleep that would wash away the memories of Thorin kissing the courier boy.

But then the lights went out.

Bilbo gasped. He blinked, and then waited for the light to return or something to happen. But, after some minutes spent in complete darkness, he wondered if there had been some sort of black out. _My usual luck_ , he thought and tried to move through the shadows, tasting the wall with his hands. He did not like the feeling of the thin paper under his fingertips, but he snorted and kept going until he touched the door. It was closed and Bilbo let out a frustrated sigh. He moved in circle, never taking off his hands from the wall. He remembered to have noticed another door before the black out and this time he found it open. He slipped past the door and there was a bit of light coming from a small window several feet above.

Bilbo could distinguish a spiral staircase and nothing more. He could just wait for the light to come back or for someone to rescue him, but the room plastered with Thorin’s photos gave him chills; he would rather go up and look for another escape. Bilbo was almost at the top of the staircase when he heard a noise. It was the sound of broken glass and it seemed quite real. Bilbo froze on the spot, wondering if it could be the noise of a shattered window – _is anyone breaking in?_ He took the last steps and found himself in a corridor. He tried a couple of windows but they were all secured. At least some light came through them and Bilbo could make his way along the corridor, covered in cobwebs and rubber spiders, the wall paper peeling off and some mechanical puppets made motionless by the blackout. The puppets were not really terrifying like this and Bilbo took some pleasure in their details. His favourite was a nameless creature, half hidden in a closet, with blue bulging eyes and long, pale limbs. It looked like an evil spirit summoned from underground and Bilbo could imagine how much frightening his unexpected appearance would have been. But without electricity the house was just sinister and weird – at least until Bilbo did not hear steps not so far away.

“Is anyone there?” he asked, his voice rasping a bit in his throat.

No one answered. But the steps stopped. Bilbo scratched his head and resumed his walk. He opened the door at the end of the corridor and then he heard the steps again, the sound a little muffled. He listened and waited by the door, certain that someone was bound to appear at the other side of the corridor, but then the steps changed direction and Bilbo was under the impression that someone was walking over his head, on the second floor. _Blasted house_. It was built in such a strange shape that it was nearly impossible to understand where a corridor would lead or how the sounds travelled through its rooms and walls and grounds.

Bilbo entered the next room (a scene of sorcery – funny how one of the wizards resembled Gandalf!), then the next one (the lair of a great, hairy spider whose glassy eyes made Bilbo hurry to the next door) and the room beyond it, where he took a pause and ate a chocolate bar from Fíli’s pumpkin bag. Then the steps were back and this time they were closer. They were heavy and _rude_ , and a door banged somewhere.

_What could Smaug do discovering a burglar in his lair?_

The ring master’s words echoed through Bilbo’s mind and he swallowed the last morsel of the chocolate bar. He felt uneasy. He had not met anyone since he had entered the house, a window had been broken and now someone was coming. Bilbo felt his skin prickle and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do. Wait for _whoever_ was coming? Move on? But when the steps were almost at the last door, Bilbo’s mind went blank and he ran to the next door, opened it and hurried along another corridor.

He could not be Smaug, couldn’t he? Nonetheless Bilbo fled, his heart thumping in his chest, his blood pulsing and curling like flames making his body feverish with fear. He could hear the steps behind him and he felt chased, like a little bunny (yes, thank you very much Mr Beorn!) hunted down by a hungered wolf. He took the first turn on his right then on his left; the steps were closer and closer, just around the corner. Bilbo entered the first room, bumping against something that seemed like a table set for dinner – there was a soft ring of glasses and silverware, and Bilbo glimpsed a chandelier. There was a window and the bright light of the fair going on in the square filtered through the decorated glass, staining the carpet in green, blue and gold. But there was no other door and Bilbo understood that he was trapped.

He fell on the floor on all fours, then slipped under the table. Bilbo was small enough to accommodate himself quite easily under the table and the thick cloth covering it would hide him. He stood crouched on the carpet, inhaling dust and trying to breathe as quietly as possible. He waited.

Someone opened the door. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear his heart beating so loudly that he thought the stranger would hear it too. He was not sure if the man – _must be a man, from the weight of his pace_ – had seen him entering the room. He might have, and then Bilbo would be soon discovered, because there was no way the man would believe he had disappeared into thin air and he would end up searching the room thoroughly. But the man might be just checking, suspecting his presence but allowing Bilbo some hope to escape. Maybe Bilbo could make a run for the door once the man would be far enough from the table. If he lowered his head enough Bilbo could see the point of the stranger’s shoes in the pool of blue light filtering through the window’s stained glass.

After some terrifying moments, the shoes moved away. Bilbo’s chest expanded a bit, and he waited for the sound of the door closing behind the man. But it did not come. Instead, Bilbo felt a hand gripping one of his ankles. He screamed and kicked, the table trembling over him, but the hold tightened and he was being pulled out. Bilbo tried to resist and he grasped at the table’s legs – his sweaty fingers slipped on the wood; he planted his nails on the carpet – it was no use; then he grabbed the tablecloth and he heard the sound of the plates and glasses and cutlery being scattered on the floor. But Bilbo could not fight the man’s grip on him and soon big, strong hands were on his legs and then his hips and Bilbo was roughly turned on his back to face...

“Thorin?”

Bilbo blinked. The light had come back at last. He had not realised it while he was fighting, but the room was now filled with the soft, warm glow coming from some fake Victorian lamps applied to the walls. It was clear enough to see Thorin’s face twisted in a deep frown.

“Baggins!” Thorin snapped, straightening his back and looking at Bilbo from his considerable height.

“You know my name?” Bilbo wondered, still trying to make sense for the fact that Thorin Oakenshield was really there, looking at him disapprovingly. He had expected to find himself face to face with _Smaug the madman_ , coming back to his treasure, and instead he had got his boss.

“Of course I do,” Thorin replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “You work for me,” he added, just a bit more quietly.

_He must think I’m in shock_ , Bilbo thought. _Am I?_ He felt so, but it would take an even bigger shock to make Bilbo forget the man he was working for. And, since he had bought his ticket for the Haunted House in the hope to put Thorin out of his mind for some time, it was just infuriatingly ironic that Thorin should be there frightening him out of his wits.  

“I make your tea from five to seven times a day,” Bilbo said eventually.

It seemed the right thing to say in order to prove to his boss that he remembered his position at Erebor Inc. quite well, but Thorin did not seemed too pleased. Instead he looked strangely at Bilbo.

It took Bilbo some moments to realise that he was still on his back, gazing at Thorin from the floor, with a fork planted in the carpet not far from his head. Bilbo had fantasised about finding himself on his back in Thorin’s presence but this was definitely an unexpected – and quite humiliating – context.

Bilbo felt his cheeks grow red and tried to scramble on his feet. He was mildly aware that Thorin was offering him his hand, but he pretended not to take notice of it and instead he brushed away some dust from his costume, looking at the carpet all the time. Still he felt the weight of Thorin’s gaze on him.

“Why are you here?” Thorin asked, his tone slightly accusing.

“I have bought a ticket, you know,” Bilbo felt the urge to defend himself and take a look at his boss.

He saw Thorin rolling his eyes, then taking a step towards him. Bilbo retreated and his legs bumped into something: his knees gave way and Bilbo found himself sitting on a chaise longue. He closed his hands on the edge, his fingers appreciating the velvet covering the couch. He tried to focus on anything but Thorin, aware that his cheeks were burning red. In the golden light of the lamps, the room appeared like a vampire’s den – all crimson tapestry and heavy drapes, stained mirrors in silver frames and a large black coffin on a pedestal. Despite the coffin, the room had the look of a _boudoir_ , too expensive and dark to bode well with Bilbo. But it was just _appropriate_ for Thorin in his vampire costume and Bilbo could not keep his eyes away from the man standing before him. Thorin must have left his cane behind, but his fake vampire teeth flashed white when he spoke again.

“Why have you left the party?” Thorin inquired.

“I wanted to go home,” Bilbo blurted out and he was not surprised by Thorin’s snort.

“This is hardly home,” his boss replied, looking around. Then his blue eyes were on Bilbo again and this time he seemed a little troubled and cleared his voice before speaking. “Has anyone bothered you? I heard what Bofur and Nori...”

“Oh, please!” Bilbo interrupted him, feeling a bit humiliated. “I’m not a child of four. I can take some teasing,” he declared, although he had been frustrated by his friends’ remarks on his costume. But he had feared appearing ridiculous in Thorin’s eyes and now he had just been dragged from under a table by his boss, a.k.a. the man Bilbo was head over the heels for.

Smaug the madman might have been more merciful towards him.

“Why leave then?” Thorin insisted, proving to Bilbo that he did not know what mercy was.

“I was bored,” Bilbo lied, trying to keep a straight face before his boss’s inquisitive gaze.

It was the kind of look that usually changed Bilbo’s bones in strawberry jam and he was grateful to be already sitting on the couch. It was not the right time for some old fashioned fainting – he doubted Thorin would gather him in his arms and fuss over his unconscious body. The thought that Thorin might have played in character and put his teeth to Bilbo’s neck made the intern quite dizzy.

_Oh_ , damn his fervid imagination and the old black and white films.

“It seemed to me that you usually enjoyed the office parties,” Thorin was saying and his words snapped Bilbo out of his reveries.

“It seemed to me _you_ were enjoying the party,” Bilbo snapped back, “ _thoroughly_ ,” he added before he could stop himself. “Yet you are here.”

“I...” Thorin started, but he closed his mouth again.

He seemed almost mortified, his cheeks unexpectedly pink with discomfort, and Bilbo averted his eyes. Thorin looked quite startled by his reaction and Bilbo could not blame him, not really: an intern was not supposed to talk to his boss in that way and Bilbo had never done it before. Oh, he was embarrassing them both.

“Do you find my look and my presence so displeasing that you always turn from me?” Thorin asked coldly after some moments.

Bilbo felt his throat tickling but he could not bring himself to laugh. He gave a soft grunt instead and wondered if Thorin was consciously teasing him or if he was so oblivious to his good looks. Bilbo did not know what was more humiliating: Thorin knowing about his hopeless infatuation or Thorin being too high on his throne to take even the smallest notice of his intern’s adoration.

“I’ve frightened you,” Thorin said at last and this was not a question.

Bilbo weighed how good a chance he had to convince his boss that he had not really trying to fight him off, panicking and kicking – oh god, he had kicked Thorin Oakenshield, hadn’t he? And screamed, Bilbo remembered some screaming: Thorin had made him scream – this was _gold_.

“A bit,” he murmured, ashamed.

“Why were you hiding under the table?” the man inquired, casting a glance to the mess of plates and fake plastic grapes on the carpet.

“Why are you here by the way?” Bilbo asked back in order to change subject.

“Dís has brought something to my attention,” Thorin explained vaguely.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at that. Something that seemed to bother Thorin deeply and the man moved from where he was standing a few feet from the couch, and took some long strides exploring the room. Bilbo was still not entirely sure that Thorin’s presence was real – it seemed a bit preposterous, like a plot twist in a novel by Dickens: the rich man turning up at the poor orphan’s door to change his life forever. Except that they were in Smaug’s house and it was not the kind of place to host a happy ending. Well, that and the fact that Thorin was not interested in a happy ending with him. Oh, and the costume that made Bilbo look like a guinea pig – _keep your guinea pig look in mind, Baggins, before daydreaming_ _of your boss kissing you senseless on this couch_. The memory of the boy who had been graced with Thorin’s passionate attention made Bilbo startle and he opened his lips again.

“Where’s the courier?” he asked, almost immediately regretting his impertinent mouth.

Thorin turned back to him, showing some surprise on his handsome features.

“At the party I suppose,” he answered, somehow cautiously. He was now looking at Bilbo with a certain curiosity and Bilbo was compelled to find very, very interesting his own hands resting on his lap.

“Oh,” he commented and fell silent again. Bilbo heard the bang of fireworks coming from the square and some of their light blazed beyond the window’s coloured panels.

“This is ridiculous,” Thorin said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. It was enough to surprise Bilbo and made him raise his eyes to his boss. Thorin was again in front of him and frowning so hard that Bilbo wondered if he was in some sort of pain. “My sister thinks I have hurt you somehow,” Thorin continued, a bit more lightly, like the whole idea seemed inappropriate to him. Then his tone dropped again. “Is it true?”

This time Bilbo forced himself to laugh and then shrugged, trying to act as a mature human being. Not as the fool child he was, pining for his boss.  

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know how Dís might think you...” he murmured, smiling.

But Thorin did not smile back. He kept looking at him, his expression dark and unfathomable. He tilted his head and a little tick appeared at the corner of his mouth – it could be a smile or sheer annoyance.

“Are you lying to me, Baggins?” he asked, almost casually. “Because you’re blushing and you seem very uncomfortable right now. Are you so bothered by my company?”

Bilbo felt transfixed by Thorin’s blue eyes, like a mouse by a snake. He swallowed and followed the swift movement that ended up with Thorin sitting at the other end of the chaise longue. The man arranged his coat around him and took away his top hat to put it on the table. He smoothed his dark hair and Bilbo pushed his own hands under his thighs to master the temptation of touching the small grey lock dangling from Thorin’s temple.

“I’ll try again,” Thorin murmured, relaxing his back against the chaise longue and putting his arm on the headrest until he was facing Bilbo. “Why have you left the party?” he repeated, each word rolling on his tongue in a way that made Bilbo think of sex between silk sheets.

The lamp light illuminated Thorin’s face, underlining the shape of his cheekbones and the prominence of his nose, and revealing a lighter shade of colour in his beard. Thorin always kept his beard well trimmed, in an orderly shape following the strong line of his jaw, covering his chin and hiding a bit the arch of the upper lip. He probably would look younger without it, but Bilbo thought age suited Thorin very well. Bilbo loved the thin wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and that air of gravity Thorin had acquired through years and sorrows.

Bilbo realised he had been staring too long and something had shifted in Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo saw his boss leaning – oh so slightly! – towards him and a little yelp of surprise escaped the intern’s lips. Thorin immediately stiffened, and the intense expression which had been on his face faded. Bilbo turned his head away, barely restraining the impulse to throw himself into Thorin’s arms.

“Sometimes,” Thorin said, so calmly it chilled Bilbo’s blood in his veins, “I delude myself into thinking that you look at me with _hunger_ ,” he murmured, “but then you don’t even bear my closeness.” Thorin’s last words were thick with contempt and his tone bothered Bilbo so deeply that he did not even focus on the meaning of what Thorin was saying. Before Bilbo’s silence, the man sprang on his feet. “You don’t look at me; you avoid me; you hardly speak to me,” he added disdainfully.

Bilbo was surprised to taste something else under the sarcasm in Thorin’s voice – something close to fury. The intern looked up and caught just a glimpse of his boss’s bewildered expression, before the man got a hold on his temper and lashed out with a cold smile. Bilbo’s brain was slowly gathering and combining new data, and it was almost supplying him with a bizarre idea about Thorin being actually _interested_ in him. But another thought came to Bilbo’s mind and cooled down his spirits.

“You are having an _affair_ with the courier boy!” he retorted and he would have probably taken back his own words on the spot, if Thorin had not looked at him astounded. Well, that was a whole new expression for Thorin _nothing surprises me anymore_ Oakenshield.

“I have kissed him, fine,” he admitted after a while and some gaping, “but it was just a kiss,” Thorin made clear, narrowing his eyes on Bilbo.

Bilbo, on his part, felt his cheeks burning; but Thorin’s puerile footnote irritated him.

“A _very heated_ kiss,” Bilbo spat back, indignantly.

“A kiss,” was Thorin’s mild reply.

“Involving a lot of tongue,” Bilbo insisted, feeling a bit reckless now that the cat was out of the bag. Since they had to speak about it, Bilbo would not let Thorin get away with some poor excuse. The boss pressed the knuckles of his hand on his mouth, as he did sometimes when he was working on something complex.

“A kiss,” Thorin repeated then, lowering his hand and holding Bilbo’s gaze. “Nothing more than that. He approached me during the party. He does not work for me, so I thought it would be easier,” he explained. He probably guessed something of Bilbo’s confusion, because he patiently added: “You may have failed to notice, unlike my watchful sister, that the courier boy is small. And he does have curly hair.”    

Bilbo just stared, dumbstruck.

He remembered vaguely that the courier boy did indeed have curly hair, a bit lighter in colour than his own. And he was quite small. He played Thorin’s words in his mind, again and again. _You always turn from me_. Bilbo opened his mouth, thinking that some words were bound to come out of it, but he could not speak. He looked at Thorin for help, eyes grown round and mouth open – Thorin gave a strange sort of moan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Thorin said, before leaning over Bilbo and taking his face in his hands.

A moment later Bilbo was being kissed by his boss.


	3. Trick or Treat (part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanation, kisses and sass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been the third and final chapter of this short story, but I realised that it would take me a very long chapter to end Bilbo and Thorin's meeting in the haunted house. So I decided to make two chapter out of it and this is the first.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it, although it's almost Christmas time!
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos, comments and bookmarks! I'm very glad of the appreciation for this story and [Theft](http://archiveofourown.org/works/925702/chapters/1799272).  
> And my utmost gratitude to [Salvia_G](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G): her betareading plays a splendid part in my ability to keep writing and publishing on this site in a language that's not my own!

_Cinnamon_.

Thorin’s lips tasted of cinnamon. And now Bilbo felt it on his tongue, for he had licked Thorin’s parted lips and earned a faint, warm tingle from them. He knew that Thorin loved cinnamon and preferred it over any flavour. Bilbo had learned it from Kíli’s idle chatting some time ago and he might have experimented with different recipes requiring cinnamon. Since Bilbo found a deep pleasure in cooking, he had always been happy to contribute to the parties at Erebor Inc. with something from his own kitchen. For the Halloween party he had baked three apple pies following his grandmother’s old recipe – with an extra dose of cinnamon. Bilbo vaguely remembered having spotted Thorin helping himself to a generous slice of his apple pie during the party. Wondering if it was really the apple pie coming from his oven Bilbo pushed his tongue past Thorin’s lips.

He heard Thorin’s breath catch, and it came to Bilbo’s mind that the courier boy had probably tasted the cinnamon in the same way. Bilbo suddenly pulled back and felt Thorin’s fingers immediately loosening their hold on his head. Bilbo blinked, realising he had closed his eyes as soon as Thorin’s mouth had touched his. Now Bilbo looked at his boss, who was straightening his back and burying his hands in his trousers’ pockets like he wanted them out of the way. Thorin frowned and then lowered his gaze.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice so tense as to be almost curt. “I did not mean to –“ Thorin began, but Bilbo interrupted him:

“ _You_ ,” he murmured, uncertain, “ _like_ ,” he added, with some difficulty, “ _me_ ,” he concluded, astounded.

The words had a strange sound. Bilbo rolled them in his mouth, along with the cinnamon tang. Thorin was looking at him again: there was the ghost of a smile on his lips and his pose grew a bit more relaxed.

“I was hoping a kiss would make that plain at least,” Thorin admitted.

“Hardly,” Bilbo snapped back. “I mean, it makes plain that you like me as much as you like the courier boy,” he continued, taking a bit of wicked pleasure in Thorin’s astonishment and then in his glare. “Oh, wait. I’m certain that almost climbing on your lap at the party gives him the advantage.”

Thorin groaned and covered his mouth with his hand. When he took it away, Bilbo was surprised to find the corner of Thorin’s lips slightly twitching in amusement.

“If you guessed what I would do to you given the chance,” Thorin said, voice now smooth as silk and dark as midnight, “you would knew _your_ advantage. And how unfair the competition is.”

Thorin had spoken without averting his eyes from Bilbo; the scorching warmth of Thorin’s gaze was enough to make the intern blush. His boss’s voice painted Bilbo’s mind with a very interesting choice of images, most of them involving Thorin’s well-spoken, sinful mouth.

Thorin had probably guessed something of Bilbo’s thoughts, because a pleased grin appeared on his lips and he took his hands out of his pockets to plant them on the armrest and headrest of the chaise longue. Thorin leant over his intern. They were so close now that Bilbo could see Thorin’s eyes shining with mirth and mischief. Then Bilbo saw the way Thorin’s gaze dropped to his mouth and how the blue of the irises darkened under the flutter of the eyelids. As he had savoured cinnamon on Thorin’s lips, now Bilbo detected the thrilling taste of the air between them, made thicker and warmer, tingling with expectations. He knew that Thorin was going to kiss him and he could already see the smallest ripples of the muscles of his face, the light quirk of an eyebrow, Thorin licking at his own lips – the prelude to the moment Thorin would claim his mouth.

Bilbo turned his head away. _I am not being kissed like the courier boy_ , he thought stubbornly. He could almost feel Thorin’s gaze changing its intensity, going from lustful to annoyed. Anyway Thorin did not pull back and just tipped his head a bit, spying Bilbo’s profile in the golden light of the last fireworks.

“I owe _him_ an apology, you know,” Thorin breathed over Bilbo’s cheek.   

“What?” Bilbo asked, taken completely by surprise.

Bilbo was so surprised to forget he was not supposed to look at Thorin and instead he found himself staring at his boss’s crooked smile. But the man seemed to grow a bit sheepish when he started to talk again:

“I’m ashamed to admit that I was looking for distraction,” Thorin said, lowering his gaze, frowning and then raising again his blue eyes to Bilbo. “I might have been hoping that you would take notice of it,” he shook his head, “but I was mostly upset and I acted foolishly to forget what had passed between you and me.”

“And exactly _what_ passed between you and me, if you don’t mind telling me?” Bilbo asked.

He saw Thorin swallow with some difficulty.

“I did not come to the party looking forward to the possibility of talking to you nor I was planning to approach you. It seemed to me that your behaviour around me had been plain enough during these months,” Thorin said. The amazement on Bilbo’s face seemed to encourage him to go on. “You don’t like talking to me despite the fact that you are quite... _eloquent_ and friendly towards the others. You hardly look at me while I’m talking to you. You barely seem to bear my presence, especially if there’s no one else around. I supposed this meant that you find me irritating and arrogant. But it might be something else...mightn’t it?” Thorin asked, a hint of hopefulness in his baritone voice.

“Oh, I _do_ find you irritating and arrogant,” Bilbo replied. Thorin’s face fell and Bilbo could not hide his amusement any longer, nor the tenderness he felt before Thorin’s disappointment. “Especially when you are kissing another,” he added in a whisper, biting his lower lip from nervousness.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth, closed it again and then said:

“The courier was willing and I was... _dissatisfied_ with our meeting. You bumped into me and pulled away as if you found me disgusting,” Thorin murmured.

“It was not...” Bilbo started to say, then groaned and blushed. He still felt a bit embarrassed at the idea of confessing to Thorin the amount of time he had spent fantasising about being touched and held by his boss. “You refused to join me and your nephews,” he remembered instead, his tone slightly accusing.

“I did,” Thorin admitted. “But it was Kíli’s invitation and not yours. You did not look pleased with it and I feared I might do something improper if I had joined you.”

“Something like?” Bilbo inquired, narrowing his eyes.

“Claiming your dear mouth before my nephews’ innocent eyes,” Thorin replied swiftly, holding the intern’s gaze.

There was something in the way he had said _dear mouth_ that sent Bilbo’s heart aching against his ribs. It was still hard to believe that his boss could have taken an interest in him and Bilbo doubted he could ever get really used to the idea – in truth he did not want to, too pleased to bask in the bright, warm feeling of his own surprise for a little while. Yet the concept seemed less preposterous than five, ten minutes before. Especially since he could easily guess that Thorin was still thinking about kissing him, and the clarity of that revelation left Bilbo almost speechless. Thorin shifted a bit on his feet, bringing his face closer to Bilbo’s and slightly tilting his head.  

“I feel quite bad about the courier boy,” he murmured, almost on Bilbo’s lips. “I have used him to take my mind from you.”

“Oh, please...don’t make me feel sorry for him!” Bilbo sighed, still a little pained by the memory of how Thorin and the boy had been kissing. He flinched under his boss’s prying gaze.

“If I had suspected that you would be affected by it,” Thorin began gently, “I would have never searched his company. It was only when Dís spoke to me that I realised I might have hurt you. By the time my sister had insulted me enough for my foolishness and convinced me that it could be the cause of your distress, you were already gone. I tried to call you but...”

“I turned off my cell phone,” Bilbo intervened, “because I did not want to speak to anyone.”

“So I followed you on the way to your bus stop. But you were not there and I had almost given up when I spotted you in the crowd at the fair. I called your name but I was too far away and there was too much noise. I lost sight of you again. Eventually I saw you entering the house,” Thorin concluded.

“You _chased_ me,” Bilbo commented, wrinkling his nose.

“If you put it like that, it sounds quite disturbing,” Thorin returned, half amused and half annoyed. “Are you unwilling prey?” he asked then.

Bilbo thought again that Thorin would make quite the vampire, now that he was showing his fake canines in a dashing smile.

“Who said I am to be the prey?” Bilbo replied, trying to grin in a convincing _werewolfish_ manner.

He had expected Thorin to laugh at his joke and mock him about his costume. But when the man licked his lips and stared at him hungrily a moan threatened to escape Bilbo’s mouth.  

 “ _Trick or treat_?” Thorin asked, the consonants curling deliciously against his teeth.

Bilbo gaped and he barely composed himself enough to say:

“I think _tr_...”  

He never got the chance to finish what he was saying, because Thorin’s mouth crashed on his, taking his lips in a searing kiss. The first time Thorin had been more cautious and his kiss had been an offer. This time his kiss was nothing short of demanding and Bilbo soon felt his head bumping against the couch, while Thorin’s mouth was pressed to his and his boss was prying his lips open with his tongue and teeth. The first touch of Thorin’s tongue against his sent a flash of white golden pleasure through Bilbo’s veins and his hands reached quickly for the lapel of Thorin’s black coat. Bilbo closed his fingers tightly on the coat, needing to hold on to something while Thorin was clearly trying to devour him whole. The young intern savoured cinnamon again, along with the fainter taste of apples – the thought that Thorin had really eaten from his apple pie made Bilbo oddly delighted and he would have gladly shared this piece of information with the man, if Thorin had not been so busy mapping his mouth and lips.

Thorin’s beard tickled and burnt, but Bilbo did not really mind: his lips were set aflame by the friction and it made them even more sensitive to the soothing touch of Thorin’s tongue. When the man tried to pull away a bit, Bilbo groaned in protest and tilted his head to gain access to Thorin’s mouth in return. He felt Thorin shifting again and he barely registered the fact that his boss was probably trying to sit on the couch next to him. They managed the change in their position without breaking the kiss – although they made quite a mess of it, their nose bumping against each other, Thorin’s fake teeth catching on Bilbo’s lower lip, the intern’s lips slipping to Thorin’s cheek before his mouth was stolen again in a kiss.

Now that they were both sitting on the couch the kiss felt less awkward and Thorin’s hands found Bilbo’s hips over the parka. He began playing with his tongue on Bilbo’s lips, while the intern caught his breath. Bilbo gave a pleased sigh and his hands smoothed the coat’s lapel before finding their way to Thorin’s hair.

“How do you know I was going to say _treat_?” Bilbo asked playfully while savouring the texture of his boss’s hair. It was wavier than he had expected and Bilbo craved to free it from its ponytail.

“Why do you think this is a treat?” Thorin asked him in turn with a roguish smile. “It could be a trick...” he began while his hands roamed a bit lower, to the hem of Bilbo’s parka, and then slipped under it, “...to get under your pretty fur,” Thorin suggested.

His fingers dug into Bilbo’s costume, roughly caressing his waist under the parka. Bilbo closed his eyes and found Thorin’s mouth again, moving his hips slightly in tempo with the man’s touch. He really liked kissing Thorin, the shape of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, the intense attention Thorin dedicated to the kiss. It was the same focused consideration Thorin used to go through his work or his books, with the sheer determination of a man going on a quest against a dragon. It seemed a bit overdone sometimes, this facing anything as a war or a challenge. But Bilbo also discovered that Thorin was quite willing to be led to gentler places: they shared softer kisses while Bilbo’s fingers explored Thorin’s beard bit by bit. Bilbo’s fascination for it seemed to amuse his boss and Thorin turned his head to trap a couple of Bilbo’s fingers between his lips and teeth.

“Oh,” Bilbo whimpered, feeling the fake teeth against his fingertips. “This is definitely a trick,” he said, looking at the way Thorin’s mouth was working on his fingers.

It was the kind of sight that could reduce someone to swooning and Bilbo almost howled with surprise when he felt Thorin’s hands slide towards his lower back, nearly reaching his buttocks. Thorin chuckled around his fingers and caressed them with his tongue – something that sent a thrill down Bilbo’s spine. Then Thorin pulled away from the fingers with a soft pop of his lips, and looked at the intern.

“You have no idea,” Thorin started to say while moving his hands over the fur and smoothing it down, “what you did to me by choosing this costume.”

Bilbo was seriously distracted by the slowness of the circles Thorin’s fingers were drawing on his back, each circle moving a bit further down, Thorin’s fingertips already caressing the curve of his buttocks.

“My costume?” Bilbo repeated, sliding his hands onto Thorin’s arms and then grasping them to steady himself.

“You really don’t know,” Thorin breathed without hiding his amazement. “You don’t know what it does to me seeing you in this costume that fits you so tightly. It’s so soft and it sticks to your body like a second skin,” he whispered, threading his fingers through the brown fur of the costume. “You don’t know how it exposes your shape and how it stretches over your lovely back.”

Bilbo’s cheeks burnt red and he gave a soft whine. Thorin’s deep voice speaking of his body was one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced in his life. And the man was actually looking at him like he was going to rip his costume apart at any moment. Bilbo felt Thorin’s fingers closing around the base of the tail and giving it a small tug.

“And _this_ ,” Thorin sighed, “dangling and swaying before my eyes, moving with the rest of your body. You have been very cruel, parading around in this costume under my gaze.”

The last words had been delivered in a whisper in Bilbo’s ear. A moment later Thorin was sucking his earlobe and Bilbo moaned shamelessly, his fingers digging into Thorin’s arms. At some point during their passionate kissing, the hood of Bilbo’s costume had fallen off his head; hence Thorin was free to move his mouth to the intern’s neck, kissing and licking the skin he could reach all the while gently trying to push Bilbo onto his back. As soon as Bilbo realised Thorin’s intention he gasped and pulled away a bit, using both his hands to stop Thorin from using his mouth again to make him incoherent and thoughtless.

“Wait,” Bilbo muttered, his fingers slipping and sliding over his boss’s broad chest.

“What?” Thorin asked in a tight voice.

Bilbo understood that the tension in Thorin’s voice came from desire and he felt his body tremble from the pleasure of the revelation. Thorin, who had just tightened his grip on Bilbo’s thighs, relaxed his hold and looked at him with some expectancy and some concern.

“Some visitor could walk on us. It would be really embarrassing. I mean, I would be embarrassed. Not to be caught in your company, I mean, I like your company; I actually work in your company, but it’s definitely not what I was trying to talk about, I’m just trying to say that maybe we should not, we should...”

Thorin was smiling.

It was such a compelling sight that Bilbo lost completely the trail of his thoughts and froze, his mouth hanging open and his fingers knotted into Thorin’s dark coat. Thorin did not smile often. And surely he had never smiled at Bilbo before, not in this way: the warmth that the smile brought to Thorin’s blue eyes was enough to grip Bilbo’s heart and squeeze it until its beat danced on the syllables of Thorin’s name.

 _Tho-rin_. _Tho-rin_.

Then Thorin pulled him close, circling Bilbo’s waist with his arm.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, placing a soft, almost chaste kiss on his swollen lips. “When I reached the house, I learnt that there had been a black out and you were inside, trapped in the dark.”

“And you decided to rescue me?” Bilbo interrupted, raising a brow.

“I decided you could rescue me from my brooding,” Thorin replied, with another brief smile. “I left the ring master to solve the problem with the electricity and entered the house. I thought it could be an occasion to talk to you and find out why you had left the party.”

“And _seduce_ me,” Bilbo pointed out.

“Have I seduced you?” Thorin hummed on his mouth.

“I’m not quite sure. Try again?” Bilbo offered and he was rewarded by his boss’s grin and a swipe of tongue on his lips. “But this hardly explain why I should not worry about the other visitors now that the electrical problem seems solved.”

“I’ve forgotten to mention,” Thorin said lightly, apparently more interested in tracing Bilbo’s face with his mouth. “I’m the owner of this place and I bought all the tickets. There won’t be other visitors for tonight.”

At these words Bilbo reached for Thorin’s face with his hands and cupped his cheeks. It felt very strange, holding his boss’s handsome face in his hands – very _intimate_. It had something to do with being allowed to touch Thorin and to look at him without any need to pretend otherwise. Bilbo tried not to focus too much on it and remember what he was going to say instead.

“You’ve bought all those tickets to... _talk_ to me,” Bilbo said slowly.

“I am not frightening you, am I?” Thorin asked and Bilbo shook his head. “I was a bit worried after what Dís told me. I could not believe it yet...I messed up with the courier boy, didn’t I?” he murmured then, pressing his cheek against Bilbo’s palm.

“It’s all right,” Bilbo answered; after all, it was.

“I needed to find you and to talk to you. And I did not want any interruptions. Buying all the tickets seemed a good option...but I’m not buying your time obviously,” Thorin said suddenly, frowning. “You’re free to leave at any moment,” he added in a very calm tone.

Bilbo saw the truth in Thorin’s words and gently drew down Thorin’s cheekbones with his fingertips.

“Am I also free to stay?” he asked, holding Thorin’s gaze. His boss nodded and ducked his head for another kiss that left Bilbo giddy – he would not have spoken aloud otherwise: “You really like me,” Bilbo murmured faintly, snuggling into Thorin’s arms.

“It seems impossible for me not to,” Thorin replied swiftly, rolling his eyes.

“Why?” Bilbo asked, before he could think better of it.

“You ask me why?” Thorin’s voice rumbled in his chest – Bilbo detected in it a fondness that made him blush and hide his face in Thorin’s shoulder. “You’re a good employee. No, don’t protest. _You are_. I know that your job at Erebor is not what you were hoping for; still, you give your best and you care about what we do at Erebor, because you care about the people working there. And maybe you care about me, don’t you?” Bilbo nodded against Thorin’s shoulder and his boss caressed his head. “Good. I hoped so,” he murmured, before continuing. “You are kind and thoughtful. Everyone at Erebor likes you. You are stubborn and you have a great sense of humour. You are humble. I find your way of talking quite endearing when it’s not irritating. You like reading. You love my nephews and they adore you,” Thorin stopped, and Bilbo could guess he was now smirking. “And you have a nice ass.”

“You have looked at my ass!” Bilbo squeaked, straightening his head to look at a very amused Thorin.

“I might have,” Thorin conceded, looking positively wicked. “Anyway I plan to do more than look,” he assured Bilbo and chose that precise moment to slip his hands down to the intern’s bottom.

Bilbo felt the fingers closing on his buttocks and he was almost hauled into Thorin’s lap. He kissed his boss open mouthed, pressing his tongue against Thorin’s and holding himself to his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his boss’s hair and loosened the ponytail. When Thorin’s dark mane was freed Bilbo plunged his hands into it, enchanted by its waves and streaks of grey. Thorin seemed quite contented to let him touch his hair while he was kissing Bilbo’s neck and exploring his body still wrapped in the tight costume. 

“We should have done this before,” Bilbo murmured breathlessly, when Thorin’s hair fell around his face and he found himself on his back, his boss covering him with his body.

“It would have been unfair,” Thorin replied, adjusting himself in order not to weigh on Bilbo’s smaller frame. “You are an intern and I’m your boss,” he continued and Bilbo felt an inappropriate arousal at the idea of the power Thorin had over him. Luckily Thorin did not take notice of his blushing, too busy caressing his chest. “I could not approach you without harassing you. It would have been an abuse of my authority since I had not received any encouragement on your part. And you’re doing good work at Erebor Inc. I did not want to...ruin it.”

Thorin’s tone was quiet but firm. Bilbo could guess how seriously the man took the whole affair. Bilbo ended up with a fond smile on his lips at the idea that Thorin Oakenshield was a very decent sort of person.

“What of it now?” Bilbo asked, when it occurred to him that they were still boss and intern despite their kissing. Thorin groaned and hid his face in Bilbo’s shoulder.

“I suppose I am not so honourable as I would like to be,” he admitted, his voice slightly muffled. “At least we’re not in the office.”

“You own this house,” Bilbo reminded him, “It’s hardly neutral ground. It’s not like being...in a _tearoom_ ,” he pointed out, while playing lazily with Thorin’s hair. Bilbo was aware of the fact that his boss’s erection was brushing his thigh through their costumes, but this chatting quietly in the mid-shadows was strangely comfortable and their arousal could wait a little longer.

“I would like to take you to a tearoom,” Thorin replied, looking slightly offended by the possibility that Bilbo could have thought otherwise.

“Later,” Bilbo murmured, trying to hide how much Thorin’s words meant to him. “I have brought you enough tea to sink Dale in it,” he teased, while asking for another kiss.

Thorin raised his brow and avoided the intern’s mouth, kissing his nose instead.

“I asked you to bring me cups of tea because I wanted to see you and have you in my office from time to time,” Thorin confessed, hardly taking a breath between his words. At Bilbo’s surprised expression, Thorin sheepishly added: “I might also have fallen into the habit of hoping that you would quit the job rather than bring me another cup of tea, so I could court you.”

Bilbo felt a small bubble of laughter building in his chest. It was not only the sight of Thorin – his almost all-powerful boss Thorin Oakenshield – confessing his hopeless crush. And it was not only the fact that they had both been blind and foolish, believing their interest unrequited. No, Bilbo’s merriment came just from happiness – he wanted to laugh because Thorin was making him maddeningly happy.  

“You know this sounds stupid, don’t you?” Bilbo asked, stifling his laugh in a large smile.

“I have never said it was a good plan,” Thorin protested, half-heartedly. “I am very bad at this, am I?”

“Yes,” Bilbo confirmed, nodding. “We make a good couple,” he added, before realising what he had just said. Bilbo stiffened a bit, wondering if Thorin would comment his words or laugh at them. But Thorin just looked at him for a little while, before saying slowly:

“The things I’m going to do to you once I take you home.”

The young intern blushed a deeper shade of red, but his body instinctively welcomed Thorin’s words and Bilbo found himself arching a little in order to press against his boss’s body. He was rewarded by the sight of Thorin’s eyes growing larger and a firm push that left him no doubt about Thorin’s state of arousal. Bilbo hummed, bit his lower lip and then spoke in an admirably even tone.

“Why not _here and now_?”


	4. Trick or Treat (part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Thorin makes some threat about Bilbo's werewolf costume.  
> Where we learn about Belladonna's lesson to his son.  
> Where we learn about Thorin's cooking abilities. 
> 
> Where all ends and begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAN-ART UPDATE!  
> [ Here](http://avivatang.tumblr.com/post/84497181656/my-lovely-friend-be-papas-check-out-her-weibo) is another delightful drawing byBE_papas dedicated to this story of mine, with Bilbo and Thorin. Check it, it's lovely!
> 
>  
> 
> Writing this short story has been really amazing: I had never tried Modern!AU before and I think that my pleasure in writing it has been enchanced by the fact that my confidence with English is slowly growing. And for this I'm grateful to you all dear, patient readers, but especially to [Salvia_G](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G), a wonderful beta-reader and most amazing author. Have you checked out her [Where Lies the Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1064595/chapters/2135494)? If not, go now, it's an exquisite piece of work in progress!
> 
> Back to this story, this is the end.  
> I'd like to write a Christmas bonus of this verse, but I don't think I'll have time to spare in the next week (and I'm so _slow_ when it comes to writing...). Anyway, this last chapter is my way to celebrate the fact that today I'm seeing _The Desolation of Smaug_.  
>  Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks!

“You little minx,” Thorin hissed when he caught his breath again.

Bilbo felt the impulse to giggle from the satisfaction of seeing Thorin so affected by his words. He did not know what he had come over him – to propose to consummate their lust in the damned house! – but the thought of waiting anymore seemed unbearable. It was downright _irrational_ : that very morning Bilbo would have considered to find himself in his boss’s arms impossible. He had decided some time ago that his crush was totally hopeless and _now look at me_ : running his little hands down Thorin’s shirt while the skin of his neck was sucked and licked like a piece of candy.

They could ride home (Thorin’s home or Bag End) then take their time in a real bed. But if the bitterness of seeing Thorin with the courier boy had driven Bilbo into the house, now his happiness and his arousal burning through him like fire made him as reckless and impatient. Bilbo could not stand the idea of Thorin getting up from the couch nor of losing the lovely weight of Thorin’s body pressing on his. He was not properly planning to have sex with his boss in the haunted house built by Thorin’s archenemy – putting it like that made it sound like a quite disreputable plot. Bilbo just wanted to have Thorin for his own a little longer before leaving the house and returning to the real world. It might also be that part of Bilbo feared that the spell would be broken once out of the house and he would go back to being a _guinea pig_.

Anyway Thorin did not seem put off by the idea of spending some time in the house, if the hungry way he was looking at Bilbo was anything to go by. On the contrary, Thorin stood up in order to take off his coat and hang it on the headrest of the chaise longue, and then proceeded to help Bilbo out of his parka. Thorin was on the verge of joining Bilbo again on the couch, but he stopped in his tracks and took out his fake vampire teeth to put them on the near table.

“I don’t want you to end up with vampire marks all over your body,” Thorin explained matter-of-factly.

Bilbo nodded, before realising that this implied that Thorin planned to mark him – mark him _all over_ his body – and the thought threatened to make Bilbo whine in a very undignified manner. If Thorin did not put his hands on him, Bilbo would go mad. As soon as his boss leant over him, Bilbo’s hands plunged in his hair and he pulled Thorin down for a passionate kiss, pushing his tongue past Thorin’s lips and making quite a good job of exploring his mouth thoroughly.

“I was putting the no vampire teeth policy to test,” Bilbo enlightened his boss, when the man looked at him in amused surprise for Bilbo’s quite ardent behaviour.

“Let me help you,” Thorin replied, lowering his head again.

He moved down to Bilbo’s neck, where he busied himself sucking a light bruise on it. Bilbo writhed under him, pulling gently at Thorin’s hair and stroking himself against his boss’s stomach. He vaguely felt one of Thorin’s hands slipping between their bodies, reaching blindly for the costume’s zip. There was a soft tug and then Thorin’s deep voice pouring into his ear, his breath warm over Bilbo’s curls.  

“You are wearing almost nothing under this costume, am I right?” Thorin asked quietly.

It was almost the same tone he had used in the past to ask Bilbo to bring a cup of tea to his office. Bilbo found it oddly arousing and licked his lips.   

“It’s...very warm and bit tight,” the intern admitted, blushing.

“Yes, I can _feel_ how tight it is,” Thorin replied with a delicious hint of irony, while his fingers began to drag down the zipper at a steady pace. “Let me check if it has kept you as warm as you claim,” he added before biting Bilbo’s earlobe.

Bilbo bucked slightly when he felt the zipper reaching the end of its run. Thorin’s hand rested on his lower belly and Bilbo hoped that Thorin would touch him now, but another part of Bilbo hoped that Thorin would _not_ touch him now because he feared that the first stroke of his boss’s fingers _there_ would make him spend in his pants like a teenager. Bilbo sucked in a breath when he sensed Thorin’s hand making his way up, caressing his stomach through the cotton t-shirt he wore under the werewolf costume.

Thorin’s hand was incredibly warm, his touch a piece of hot coal burning through the cotton and Bilbo’s flesh, licking at his bones and his heart. By contrast Bilbo’s hands were always a bit cold – he possessed quite a collection of wool gloves to endure the winter months. But Thorin’s body heat was slowly seeping through Bilbo and enveloping him in a warm cocoon of gentleness and desire. Bilbo basked in it, his hands – not so cold anymore – wandering in Thorin’s hair, on his large shoulders, down his arms.

A foolishly fond smile rushed to Bilbo’s lips while he arched under Thorin’s touch and his fingers slipped to Thorin’s waistcoat and shirt, searching for buttons to pop out of their holes. Thorin missed the smile, but not the way Bilbo’s fingers were struggling with his clothes; he took his mouth away from Bilbo’s neck and placed a kiss on his brow before helping him with the buttons. Bilbo felt his heart beating loudly, his skin prickling and a soft tremor in his limbs: he was overwhelmed with nervousness now that Thorin was giving him the lead and looking at him with such an intent expression on his handsome face.

“What?” Thorin asked when Bilbo’s hands stopped, his fingers clenched on the hem of his boss’s shirt.

“My hands are cold,” Bilbo replied without thinking.

“Not a good reason to stop,” Thorin said, and pressed his body down on them. “Unless there’re other reasons for...” Bilbo shook his head so hurriedly that Thorin chuckled. “ _Touch me_ ,” the man ordered then, half closing his eyes and pinching the cotton of Bilbo’s shirt distractedly. “Please,” Thorin added, in what could have passed for good manners if his tone had not been so... _lustful_.

Bilbo could not fight the temptation any more. He was still nervous and dazzled by his own excitement, but he spread his fingers over Thorin’s naked chest anyway. Bilbo was surprised to find it so hairy – but he should have guessed from the glimpses of Thorin’s forearms he had whenever his boss had rolled up his shirtsleeves on a particularly heated day at Erebor Inc. What surprised Bilbo even more was the fact that he actually _liked_ it. It was thick here and there, but not coarse, and it ran over an impressive display of well defined muscles. Bilbo could sense them flex under his touch, answering to it, tensing and relaxing. The hair was thicker on the chest, but Bilbo’s fingertips gingerly followed its trail down to Thorin’s stomach. An embarrassing, half-choked moan escaped Bilbo’s mouth at the idea of where the hair ended. The following thoughts – how Thorin’s body hair would feel on his naked and almost hairless skin, and whether it would leave his skin pink from the friction – did not improve Bilbo’s control. He moved his hands on Thorin’s torso greedily, enjoying how sensitive to his touch Thorin seemed. Thorin’s sighs and groans were like sips of a strong drink, making Bilbo giddy with self-confidence.

“Bilbo,” Thorin hissed when the intern’s fingers reached his nipples.

“Trick or treat?” Bilbo asked coquettishly. He saw Thorin roll his eyes.

“ _Trick_ ,” Thorin answered with some defiance in his voice.

Bilbo closed his nipples between thumb and index, and gave them a soft pinch. Thorin clenched his jaw but his eyes spoke volumes of the effect Bilbo’s _trick_ was having on him. The man remained stiff while Bilbo was rolling his nipples between his fingers, feeling them hardening at the rough handling. But when Bilbo’s nails grazed them, Thorin’s pushed his knee between Bilbo’s legs and pressed their groins together.

“Trick or treat?” he asked in return, pouring his words in Bilbo’s gaping lips.

“Trick!” Bilbo gasped, determined to match Thorin on this ground. His boss covered Bilbo’s hands with his own and moved his thumbs in a light caress over Bilbo’s knuckles.

“I shall suck you,” Thorin said, each syllable a slow caress over Bilbo’s mouth.

The intern’s pupils grew larger and his next breath sounded quite strange – more a whine than a breath. Bilbo closed his eyelids tightly and he took some pleasure in twisting Thorin’s hardened nipples and feeling his boss’s breath sharpening as much as his own. But he also felt Thorin’s fingers closing on his wrists and forcing his hands over his head against the armrest.

“You had your turn,” Thorin grumbled, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

“And _that_ does sound like a treat rather than a trick,” Bilbo said back, avoiding repeating Thorin’s words in order to maintain some pretence of control in his voice. A smile tugged at the corner of Thorin’s mouth.

“Sucking you would be a treat _indeed_ ,” he admitted and Bilbo felt reason deserting him again, since Thorin’s tone and eyes were suggesting that he would consider Bilbo’s cock a delectable morsel, a taste he could grow to like. “But here’s the trick: right now I’m going to talk to you about how I would suck you.”

Bilbo was sure that there should have been some rule against a voice as deep as Thorin’s, a rule keeping his boss from using words like _suck_ so freely. They were not words. They were sparkles dancing on Bilbo’s skin and mind, and the young intern was very surprised that his werewolf costume had not burst into flames yet. Bilbo tried to come up with a clever retort to Thorin’s threat, but his wit had been momentarily overpowered by the way his boss was bringing their bodies to brush one against the other, Bilbo trapped with his back on the couch and his wrists in Thorin’s grip.

“I’m going to have your legs on my shoulders,” Thorin began, holding Bilbo’s gaze. “And you must be completely naked. I would have liked to take you with your costume on, but some adjustments must be made before that: we should make the zipper reach further down, ending its run just above your pretty werewolf tail. Would you like that, being sucked and fucked while still in your costume?” Thorin hummed, then chuckled when Bilbo bit his lips and his thighs clenched around Thorin’s waist. “Quiet, quiet,” he said, using his weight to keep Bilbo in check. “If you keep moving like that I might just rip your costume up to the tail and do as I wish with you. But we don’t want to ruin this lovely fur, do we?”

“You are...” Bilbo panted, rubbing his calves and shoes against Thorin’s legs, “... _wicked_.”

Thorin raised his brow.

“It seems to me that’s the whole point of being a ruthless vampire,” he replied before stealing a kiss from Bilbo’s parted lips. “Besides, it’s hardly my fault if your costume makes me want to make you _howl_ , my dear cheeky werewolf.”

“Not going to howl!” Bilbo huffed indignantly, trying half-heartedly to unsaddle Thorin.

“No?” Thorin adjusted Bilbo’s wrists so that he had to use only one of his hands to hold them, while the other could slip between their bodies. “I’m going to put my mouth around your cock and suck you slowly,” Thorin said, while his hand reached Bilbo’s groin and cupped it through the fur. Bilbo blushed but his body did not care about politeness, and he found himself rutting against Thorin’s palm. “I’m going to take your balls in my hand like this,” Thorin continued mercilessly, while his fingers traced the shapes of Bilbo’s groin through the fur and circled his testicles. “Cover them with my mouth and lavish them with my tongue. I’m going to suck at the little slit at the top of your cock, and lick every salty drop from it.”

Bilbo felt Thorin’s fingers working his flesh, playing with his erection through the fur, fondling him; he sensed his underwear getting damp and sticking to his flesh. Bilbo moaned Thorin’s name, struggling weakly against the grip on his hands, while his boss was still whispering sinful things into his ear.

“Thorin, _please_ , Thorin,” Bilbo babbled, feeling the familiar pressure building in his lower belly.

He wanted to come, obviously; still he did not want to come. It was too soon and he wanted all the things Thorin was promising him, he wanted Thorin’s mouth and Thorin’s attention, and he wanted to touch Thorin again. So Bilbo fought his excitement, trying to think of anything but Thorin’s fingers stroking him and the delicious sound of his boss’s voice like another caress drawn over his fervid, vivid imagination. _Do not come, do not come, don’t you dare Bilbo Baggins!_ , he repeated to himself and he did not realise how much of his internal struggle showed on his face until Thorin did not stop. Then Bilbo felt the tears gathering in his eyes just from the effort of keeping himself in check and how he was biting his lower lip.

“Please, if you keep up like that I...” Bilbo murmured, before Thorin could speak.

Thorin’s concerned expression broke in a tender smile.

“Oh, darling,” Thorin murmured, taking his hand away and releasing Bilbo’s wrists in the meantime. “Hush, I’ll be kind to you. You’ve been very kind to me,” he said, kissing Bilbo’s cheeks and nose. “I do want to suck you,” Thorin said and this time his voice was uneven with tension. “I have condoms with me but...I know you’re clean and you take your tests regularly. And I am too.”

“You know,” Bilbo repeated, Thorin’s practical words cutting through the haze of his lust.    

“Dís,” his boss sighed. “Do you happen to remember that conversation where my sister asked you about your sexual life?”

Bilbo experienced a whole new level of embarrassment. He swallowed and nodded.

“I...I thought she was just being...I mean, a bit _curious_. Oh, well, a bit _intrusive_ ,” Bilbo admitted under Thorin’s sceptical look. “I thought she was interested in understanding the kind of man I am and if I’m the reliable, thoughtful type. And I...well, for a moment I thought she was fascinated with me, so I was glad to admit that I’m gay and we just ended up chatting away and...oh my, she actually was...”

“She was checking on you,” Thorin gloomily concluded in his place. “She had guessed my...interest for you and she was obviously meddling. Without my consent, I must add. Nonetheless, I apologise for her behaviour,” the man grumbled. “As soon as Dís came back to me with the information she had extorted from you I made her swear she would not intrude further. Until this night, I mean, when she decided I had disgraced myself enough on my own.”

Bilbo thought about it for a little while, then closed his arms around Thorin’s shoulders.

“I’m glad Dís meddled tonight,” he confessed, earning a sigh from Thorin’s mouth. “But now you can rely on a very trustworthy source of information about my sexual behaviour,” Bilbo added, smiling.

“Myself?” Thorin replied swiftly. Bilbo rolled his eyes and tugged at his boss’s dark hair.

In turn, Thorin straightened his back, one knee planted on the couch and his other foot on the floor; then he took hold of Bilbo by his hips and hauled him into a sitting position, without giving him time to complain about the rough handling.

“ _Me_ , you brute,” Bilbo corrected Thorin, feeling his head spinning a bit at the sudden change of their position. Yet there was something deeply erotic in the fact that Thorin was strong enough to manoeuvre him at his pleasure.

“Then you must tell me exactly what you want me to do to you,” Thorin suggested, one of his hands spread on Bilbo’s back and the other caressing his round, soft cheek.

Bilbo took a good look at Thorin’s chest between the hems of his shirt and waistcoat. The hair there was a bit darker than on his head and his bulk looked as impressive as it had felt under Bilbo’s hands. He realised he had been staring and cleared his throat before stuttering:

“Trick or treat?”

“Treat,” Thorin chose after a moment of surprise.

Bilbo nodded and lowered his eyes, then proceeded peeling off the costume from his shoulders. His cheeks grew hot from the weight of Thorin’s gaze on him and he shifted a bit under it, adjusting his position on the couch. Bilbo was so aware of his own hands removing the costume that he instinctively tensed under his own touch, barely containing the temptation of checking to see the effect he was having on Thorin. Bilbo was rewarded when he had the costume tucked at his hips and he rolled a bit onto his back in order to push it past his thighs: a choked groan escaped Thorin’s lips. Bilbo raised his blue-grey eyes to his boss and the man practically launched himself onto Bilbo, grabbing him by the waist and kissing him fiercely.

Thorin’s tongue was still ravishing Bilbo’s mouth when his hands joined Bilbo’s to help him strip. It was no more the orderly, neat divesting Bilbo had initiated: Thorin was now making good use of the newly exposed skin, and if Bilbo did not end up completely naked in the next ten seconds it was due only to Thorin’s interest in ruining him thoroughly. While Bilbo was still trying to work his costume down his legs, Thorin pulled his t-shirt up, baring Bilbo’s stomach first. The rough skin of Thorin’s hands caressed his plump flesh and made Bilbo squirm in pleasure and laughter; Thorin’s hands were followed by his mouth and he took little, soft bites at Bilbo’s tender belly.

“I should cover you in golden honey,” Thorin murmured over Bilbo’s skin in a strangely reverent tone. “And lick it all away.”

Bilbo could not help moaning at the idea and he felt Thorin smiling against his navel. Then Thorin’s tongue _in_ his navel distracted Bilbo from the enchanting proposal and brought him back to the present pleasures. In the chaos, Thorin’s purple waistcoat was blindly thrown on the floor and Bilbo’s t-shirt was tucked under his armpits, where it got stuck. Bilbo ended up trapped in cotton, because Thorin was too busy sucking the poor intern’s nipples to help him. His voice muffled by the t-shirt, his arms swirling aimlessly over his head, Bilbo practically kicked Thorin’s legs to get his attention, but Thorin only hummed in response and blew warm breaths over Bilbo’s nipples before returning to suck them sore and red.

At last one of Thorin’s hands came to the rescue and the t-shirt was pushed past Bilbo’s head. Then the hand landed among his curly hair and his boss was pulling Bilbo in another kiss. The intern sighed and plastered his now naked torso to Thorin’s, brushing against his hairy chest – oh, it was amazing, Thorin’s hair grazing all the spots on Bilbo’s skin where Thorin’s mouth and teeth had been. Bilbo felt all nerves and fires, and his hands found their way to Thorin’s back in order to leave some marks of his own.

Bilbo’s nails scratching his back seemed to arouse Thorin even more: his eyes grow darker and he almost ripped off the werewolf costume when he shoved it past the intern’s knees and down to his ankles. Then Bilbo kicked away one of his shoes, Thorin discarded the other and they fell again on the couch, kissing and complaining about the discomfort of the chaise longue. Well, actually Bilbo alone was complaining while Thorin just agreed wordlessly, showing his approbation in grunts and nods, all managed while barely taking away his mouth from Bilbo’s body. _That_ was definitely not something Bilbo would complain about. Somehow they got rid of the costume, freeing Bilbo’s ankles, but he took care to keep his woollen socks.

“Cold feet,” he explained breathlessly, for his boss’s amusement.

At some point, while their limbs were impossibly tangled and their hands were scrupulously mapping each other’s body out, Thorin probably asked again:

“Trick or treat?”

And possibly Bilbo’s mind and lips supplied the question with a moaned answer:

“Treat.”

It might have been as a result of this short exchange that Thorin’s hand ended up in Bilbo’s briefs and the intern gasped at the sensation of his boss’s fingers fondling his balls. _Oh my_ , Thorin’s hand was hot and quite skilled, and moving on Bilbo’s crotch with a confidence that Bilbo would have called arrogance if he had not been too busy whining from pleasure. Thorin took hold of the hem of Bilbo’s briefs with a despicable grin and proceeded in shoving them down the intern’s thighs. Then he left the couch and stood on his feet while he was dragging the underwear past Bilbo’s knees and calves and socks-covered feet. Bilbo was now sitting with his back to the headrest, his whole body on bare display for Thorin – minus feet.

Thorin let the briefs fell with the rest of  their clothes. He looked at Bilbo, licking his lips. Bilbo swallowed hard and felt the blush spreading from his face to his chest and he would have sworn that even his thighs were growing pink under Thorin’s blue gaze. He felt the impulse to move his hands to his chest and crotch – a flicker in Bilbo’s arms betrayed his shyness and Thorin stopped him with a glare.

“I want your hands on the headrest,” he said slowly. “Hold on to it,” Thorin added, taking a step towards Bilbo and putting his big hands on Bilbo’s knees. He firmly parted his thighs and then slipped down, on the floor between Bilbo’s legs. “I’m going to make you howl, little cub.”

If someone asked – and _Thorin_ was going to, the wicked man! – Bilbo would deny having ever howled. He might have wailed a bit when Thorin’s lips had closed on his cock for the first time and began sucking at it, slowly as Thorin had promised. And Bilbo might have also whimpered at the scratch of Thorin’s beard on the tender flesh of his thighs. He might have even cried Thorin’s name. Once. Well, a couple of times, five at most. But not howling, definitely not howling.

The headrest became increasingly difficult to grasp, Bilbo’s fingers slipping on the wooden frame, his nails fruitlessly digging into the velvet flesh of the couch. He bumped the back of his head against the couch, staring blindly at the ceiling while Thorin’s tongue circled the head of his cock. Oh, his boss was good at it. _Too good_ for Bilbo’s property and wits. Bilbo’s hands lost their hold on the headrest: his fingers instinctively found Thorin’s hair while his eyes fell on Thorin’s lips closed around his flesh, that beautiful mouth sliding up and down. He had not expected Thorin to look back at him and the blue of his boss’s eyes was almost a shock. Thorin slowly pulled away, his tongue flicking against Bilbo’s cock and his lips shining from – _oh damn_ , Bilbo felt quite close to come from the thought. And that would mean come on...– _stop right here, Bilbo Baggins!_ Thorin left his cock with a soft, sinful _pop_ , and looked intently at him.

“I told you to not take your hands from the headrest.,” he said, his voice unfairly even considering where his mouth had been a few moments ago.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose, dampened his lips and tried to come up with a sharp and clever answer. He felt his neglected cock twitching at the sharp smile appearing on Thorin’s lovely mouth – Bilbo tried harder to focus but it was quite impossible with Thorin’s lips so close to his cock and his bearded cheek resting against his thigh.

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Bilbo squeaked, bursting with frustration.

And Thorin Oakenshield giggled. _Giggled_! His impossibly blue eyes were alight with mirth, and the toes-curling sound that was Thorin giggling reverberated on Bilbo’s bare skin, caressed his thighs and his naked heart, ruined him for life. It was beautiful – Thorin being so vulnerably happy, with his beautiful head and his beautiful hair nestled on Bilbo’s lap.

If Thorin’s giggles did not kill him on the spot, nothing would. So Bilbo threw propriety away and arched a bit, nudging at Thorin’s lips with his cock. He saw Thorin’s lips parting in a smile and then welcome him: Thorin held Bilbo’s gaze while he was taking him in his mouth again. Bilbo moaned his boss’s name shamelessly and let Thorin spoil him with his tongue and his breath and his lips, and even his hands now running on Bilbo’s stomach and hips – soothing, tempting; he did not know anymore. Bilbo had to summon all his willpower in order to tighten his grasp in Thorin’s hair and force the man to stop.

“What?” Thorin exclaimed, his surprise changing into a frown. “Don’t you want to come in my mouth?” he asked, in the most alluring voice.

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly, because he would not be able to maintain his resolution as long as he kept looking at Thorin’s mouth just a breath away from his cock.

“No,” Bilbo said at last, opening again his eyes. “I want to come with you inside me,” he added, his tone dropping low and uneven.  

Thorin stilled. He slowly raised on his feet, but Bilbo noticed that he was a little unsteady on his legs. Thorin bent over him and took Bilbo’s face in his hands.

“You must know how much I would like to,” he said, bringing their foreheads close, “but I won’t risk hurting you without any preparation,” Thorin explained, caressing Bilbo’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I can take you home right now, if you allow me. Just give me some moments to... _adjust_ ,” he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

It was Bilbo’s turn to break into giggles. Thorin’s fingers slipped on Bilbo’s lips, and he frowned.

“In my parka...” Bilbo said, smiling and blushing at the same time, “...in my parka there’s a little bottle of lube,” he confessed, feeling a bit sheepish after all. “I keep it there for emergencies,” Bilbo added when he saw Thorin’s dumbstruck expression.

“You... _what_?” his boss repeated, almost incredulous. But he was retrieving Bilbo’s parka from the floor and he found the lube in one of the inner pockets. “You go around with this in your pocket?” Thorin asked quietly.

Bilbo hugged himself and lowered his eyes. He felt suddenly too naked in the badly lightened room; he feared what Thorin would do of it - what he would think of him. He bit his lips and his voice came out a bit colder than he had expected.

“My mother always said: ‘never leave home without taking with you all you could need on your journey’,” Bilbo stated, without looking at Thorin. “And I do my best to never forget my handkerchief, some pocket money, my umbrella...”

“...and lube,” Thorin concluded in his place. A moment later he was on the couch and kissing Bilbo again, deeply and nicely. When they parted Thorin was laughing; it was a good laugh, coloured with fondness and amusement. “You are mind blowing, Bilbo,” Thorin murmured over the skin of Bilbo’s shoulder, raising goosebumps. “And no,” he continued, guessing what was going on in Bilbo’s mind, “you’re not allowed to spoil this with some clever comment about _blowing_.”

Bilbo chuckled and pushed his nose into Thorin’s hair, inhaling its clean scent. But his chuckle was stifled when he suddenly found himself laying on his stomach, turned down over Thorin’s knees. Thorin’s hand was on his back, a warm weight between Bilbo’s shoulder blades; then fingertips began tracing Bilbo’s spine down to his lower back, until they dipped between his cheeks and pried them apart. Bilbo hid his face in the hollow of his arm, hardly keeping himself from squirming at the idea of how Thorin was looking at him, spread over the man’s knees. Bilbo was startled by the sound of the bottle’s tap being opened. He waited for the cold touch of the lube between his cheeks, but it did not came. Instead Thorin’s other hand was on his head and Thorin’s fingers were playing with his curls.

“Do you want this?” his boss asked. Bilbo released a breath he did not even know he had been holding.

“I think,” he began, “that if you don’t put your fingers in me right now I’ll leap on my feet and I’ll slap you.”

Thorin’s knees trembled a little when he stifled a laughter, but he moved his hand from Bilbo’s head to his mid-back and pressed Bilbo down. Bilbo instinctively parted his legs a bit more, and this time he felt the unpleasant coldness of the lube-covered finger probing between his cheeks and landing on his entrance. He grunted, a shiver running up his back, and heard Thorin murmuring a distracted apology. Then Thorin’s finger began moving in circles over the puckered muscle and the lube slowly warmed up. Thorin’s well trimmed nail grazed lightly over the entrance and Bilbo sighed, his hips rolling over his boss’s knees. He could feel his cock trapped under him, pressed against Thorin’s strong thigh. And now Bilbo could also sense Thorin’s finger slowly breaching in.

It had been a bit since the last time Bilbo had done this with someone. And he suspected that Thorin’s fingers were considerably larger than what he had experienced in the past. He just felt tighter and more sensitive; but he might just be _very_ responsive to Thorin Oakenshield and the idea of bedding – well, _couching_ – this brilliant, handsome man who was apparently infatuated with him. Bilbo let himself drift into the sensation of being touched so intimately; Thorin’s finger gently rubbed his inner walls and worked its way in, pushing deeper and deeper, until Bilbo felt the knuckle pressing against his entrance. It was good. Thorin had used the right amount of lube and Bilbo felt his body adapt gladly to the slow, gentle courtship. So he did not protest at all when Thorin aligned a second finger at his entrance. Thorin was taking his time, playing with Bilbo like he was a delicate harp; he touched Bilbo’s strings one by one, stealing one note after another, now a whimper, then a sigh, composing a melody of their own played between their bodies. From the sweet notes of the opening, Thorin moved to slightly rougher undertones, now dragging his fingers in and out of Bilbo’s hole. He ripped a long, modulated series of moans from Bilbo’s mouth.

By the time Thorin added a third finger, Bilbo had been opened and stretched, his muscle’s resistance wore down bit by bit; Thorin had made acquaintance with that most tender spot that made Bilbo’s eyelids flutter in pleasure when touched and stroked. Bilbo breathed heavily and he could guess that Thorin’s control was wearing thin. In truth it took just Bilbo’s voice to break it.

“Thorin,” Bilbo urged, pushing his buttocks up, then clenching down on the fingers again.

Thorin practically growled and took away his fingers, careful not to hurt Bilbo. Then he lifted Bilbo up and put him on his knees, on the couch. Thorin hastily opened his trousers and shoved his underwear down. Bilbo swallowed. He knew staring was a bit rude, but Thorin’s stiff cock filled his eyes and mind, and he could not help it. Bilbo whimpered and he got drunk at the sight of the man preparing himself, slicking his flesh with lube while looking at him like Bilbo was some sort of beauty.

“Come here,” Thorin whispered gently, his eyes a bit unfocused. “How do you want it?” he asked.

Bilbo moved gingerly on the couch, took a deep breath and then straddled Thorin, back to chest.

“Like this,” he said, blushing.

Bilbo felt Thorin’s cock pressed against his buttocks and he was a bit startled when the man kissed him on the nape. Bilbo leaned forward a bit, to leave Thorin some space to find his way into him. He felt his boss’s hand caressing his cheeks and parting them, probing his entrance with a couple of fingers. Thorin checked his eagerness, inserting his fingers again and giving a quick thrust before taking them out. He grumbled in satisfaction and a moment later Bilbo sensed the blunt head of Thorin’s cock being guided against his hole. Thorin’s other hand was closed on Bilbo’s hip now and he restrained him from lowering himself too quickly on Thorin’s throbbing erection.

Nonetheless Bilbo gasped when the head breached in. The pressure was familiar, etched somewhere in his body’s memory; at the same time it was very unfamiliar because this was Thorin and no one else, and there was not such a remembrance in Bilbo’s heart. Therefore his body adjusted before his heart did. His body soon recognised the stretch and the burn, prelude to a pleasure that Bilbo remembered and consequently desired. But his heart drummed wildly in his chest and sent his blood chanting in his veins – for Thorin. _Tho-rin_. _Tho-rin_. And Thorin’s arms were now around his waist, Thorin’s face pressed into his shoulder. Bilbo could feel the scratch of Thorin’s beard, the warmth of his breath, even Thorin’s heartbeat against his back. Slowly he went down, inch by inch engulfing Thorin’s cock, one hand closed on the armrest and the other on his boss’s strong arm. Bilbo felt his body being opened relentlessly both by the pressure of Thorin’s arousal and his own weight, which was dragging him down in Thorin’s lap. The lube had eased the way, but Thorin was thick and hard as rock: the sensation of being filled was almost overwhelming when Bilbo finally felt his boss’s thighs and balls pressed against his buttocks.

He arched, trembling, and his head fell on Thorin’s shoulder. Immediately Thorin’s hands moved from Bilbo’s hips to his chest and then his fingers were on Bilbo’s throat, caressing their way to his cheek.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured in his ear. “Are you all right?”

“You are bigger than I expected,” Bilbo muttered without thinking. “Oh no, I didn’t mean like that, I take it back!” he added hastily, his cheeks burning hot.

“Now you’re flattering me,” Thorin replied, amused. “And _I_ won’t take _it_ back,” he made clear, his hips giving a soft, definitely meaningful push. Bilbo mewled, the friction kindling spark along his spine.

“You and your bigger _ego_ ,” he complained.

“You and your deliciously tight ass,” Thorin answered back, his deep voice caressing Bilbo’s neck. “And your adorable little ears,” he added, taking an earlobe between his teeth. “You’re _perfect_ around me,” Thorin hummed, spreading his fingers on Bilbo’s belly and tickling his navel with his thumb. “Ride me.”

Thorin’s words forced a moan out of Bilbo’s mouth. He raised his hips a bit and rolled back in Thorin’s lap. He did it again, this time lifting himself up until only the head was still inside, then went down all the way. Thorin groaned and bit his shoulder, while his hands ran all over Bilbo’s body, caressing and stroking, rubbing his nipples and warming all the skin he could reach. Bilbo’s movements became more steadier each time he took Thorin to the hilt again; the couch was far from comfortable and his thrusts were slow, but he enjoyed how Thorin’s cock pressed into him, stretching his hole and putting his whole body on fire. He liked the sounds he was stealing from Thorin’s mouth, his ragged breath and rough moans. And he liked how Thorin kept him in his arms, moving his tongue along his neck, his temple, tasting his feverish skin.

It was almost too much. Bilbo was glad that the position prevented him from looking at Thorin. He could not have coped with it – having Thorin’s eyes on him all the time, spying his pleasure, his feelings. He felt so unbearably naked with Thorin inside; he knew that Thorin would have guessed how good this was for Bilbo, and how intense and ridiculous Bilbo’s crush for him. He was not prepared to be surprised in blatant adoration, not yet.

But Thorin was making things very difficult. He let Bilbo take his time over him, restraining himself from thrusting up each time Bilbo impaled himself on his cock. However his hands were drawing Bilbo’s limbs again and again, bathing him in such sweet caresses, such passionate touches, that the young intern felt his skin prickling and burning. Thorin’s fingers pinched the tender flesh of his inner thigh, while his other hand was taking care of his nipples, in turn.

“Speak to me,” Thorin demanded. “I want to hear your voice while you’re fucking yourself on me.” Despite the lust ignited by those words, Bilbo frowned and instinctively closed his lips, stifling his next moans. But Thorin’s fingers reached his mouth and gently parted his lips. Bilbo bit Thorin’s fingers as soon as they touched his tongue and Thorin answered kissing his hair. “Don’t hold back,” he said.

“Please,” Bilbo moaned, bouncing up and down, his back arching against Thorin’s chest. “I can’t,” he breathed, rocking his body on top of his boss. But Thorin was sucking his skin between shoulder and neck, leaving a new mark, and Bilbo almost sobbed: “I want you, I want you.”

“You have me,” Thorin reassured him, and he snapped his hips up for the first time, as to underline his own words.

The movement drive his cock deeper into Bilbo and the intern lost his breath, gasped, felt his knees go weak under him. His legs felt quite heavy and he was glad when Thorin decided to grab him by the hips and guiding his body up and down to meet his stronger thrusts. The chaise longue moaned under them: Thorin’s harsh movements were putting their stability on the couch at risk and the restraint was quite frustrating, but Bilbo did not really care as long as Thorin kept fucking him. Bilbo relinquished himself to Thorin’s hold, his thoughts unravelled by the pleasure shining at the edges, his own cock bobbing with the thrusts. He was almost on the point of asking Thorin to touch it, to wrap his long, thick fingers around his dark pink flesh, but Thorin spoke first.

“I hope you don’t mind rug burns,” he hissed between his teeth.

A moment later Bilbo was lifted on his feet and he moaned at the loss of Thorin’s cock. Thorin made him kneel on the floor and blindly grabbed something from the pile of their clothes to provide some sort of pillow for Bilbo’s head – for Thorin pushed Bilbo’s shoulders down and raised his hips, arranging his pliant limbs in a pose that left Bilbo exposed and ridiculously wanton. The rug was wiry under his naked knees and Bilbo’s nipples prickled in the cold. But soon Thorin’s arm was wrapped around his waist, his boss’s chest covered his back and Bilbo felt locks of hair brushing his shoulder blades. Then Thorin penetrated him and Bilbo forgot the rug and the cold and the tremor in his legs. He heard Thorin whispering in his ear – filthy, tender things – _darling_ and _such a tight hole_ , then Thorin’s beautiful groans as he hammered into him. The rough skin of Thorin’s fingertips scratched his nipples and Thorin enclosed them between thumb and index.

“Next time,” he promised, “I’ll have them in my mouth the entire time while I fuck you.” 

Bilbo pressed his head down, Thorin’s voice shaking him with a bolt of pleasure that made his toes curl. Thorin bit him on the shoulder and Bilbo thought that he would drink from his soul, a vampire preying on his beating heart. But Thorin kissed the skin he had abused, and told him he was beautiful like this – Bilbo thought it ridiculous, for Thorin did not need to praise him: he was already wax in Thorin’s hands, melting and yielding.

“You like this,” Thorin growled in satisfaction. “How long?” he asked.

“How long what?” Bilbo stuttered.

“How long have you wanted this?” Thorin elaborated, while one of his hands slipped to Bilbo’s stomach and pinched the skin around his navel. He backed away, pushed in. Again.  

“I-I don’t know,” another push, Thorin’s cock filling him to the brim. “Months. Months, two or three months after my arrival,” Bilbo confessed, unable to lie or simply shut his mouth up while Thorin was so deep into him. _Fuck_ , he could feel Thorin’s heavy, taut balls resting against his ass.

“If I had bent you over my desk, would you have let me do it?” his boss asked, his voice thick with lust. “Would you have let me fuck you with my fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet? Would you have let me knowing that someone could have walked on us and seen you with your legs apart and my semen dripping out of your ass?”

“Yes, yes, anything,” Bilbo babbled, made incoherent by the fact that Thorin had just brushed over his prostate. “I would have let you do anything,” he groaned when Thorin’s teeth played on his nape.  

“I will,” Thorin replied, “I’ve lost too much time. But I’m going to do anything to you.”

“Yes, please, yes,” Bilbo agreed, although he could not think of another time but this, this splendid moment when he was full of Thorin.

“So pretty when you’re begging,” Thorin sighed.

He straightened his back, closing his big paws on Bilbo’s plump waist. Bilbo felt his body shifting, his hips being raised further, his knees almost lifted from the rug. He planted his feet against the floor, his back arched; then Thorin pounded into him: Bilbo was split and opened like a ripe fruit, and he felt without a shell, he was all pulp and tender flesh reshaped by Thorin’s thrusts. Thorin’s cock reached deeper, filling Bilbo’s mouth with moans nothing short of obscene and the air around them with the snap of their bodies slapping one against the other. Bilbo felt Thorin touching him everywhere, reaching each point, each knot, each thought.

“Thorin, please, please,” he sobbed, and this was utterly absurd, for Bilbo Baggins was well-spoken and his vocabulary amounted to more words than his boss’s name and _please_. He just did not remembered anything else at the moment and he sucked the syllables of Thorin’s name, his own breath fire in his throat.

“I would like to put my fingers in you, along with my cock. Would you like that? Being stretched and filled, until you cannot bear anymore?” Thorin inquired.

“Thorin, Thorin, Thorin,” Bilbo chanted, his thoughts made dissolute by Thorin’s deep, lascivious voice. He heard his boss growling and for a moment he thought that it was going to happen, right there, Thorin’s fingers forcing their way in him, spreading him like never before; but Thorin only fuck him harder, pushing him against the rug, taking all and more.

“Another time, darling,” he said though, another promise to lace Bilbo’s heart with desire.

Thorin wrapped his hand around Bilbo’s cock and caressed him roughly while he did his best to hit Bilbo’s soft spot as frequently as possible. It took shockingly little for Bilbo to come. It had taken him more to _not come_ earlier, but now he had only to give in to the pressure of Thorin’s hand. There was a single moment of stillness, when Bilbo was on the verge with Thorin’s name trapped between his teeth. Then he fell, the waves shaking him to the bones, pleasure curling and seeping through the folds of his body. If Bilbo had been a plant it would have been spring and summer together, leaves and flowers and fruits blossoming from his curls, toes, navel.

Thorin thrust through Bilbo’s orgasm until he spilled his seed into him and Bilbo felt its warmth through the haze of his own pleasure. Thorin’s fingers moved to Bilbo’s stomach, smearing it with semen; when they parted they both groaned, aching and sore. Bilbo’s body gave in first and he simply slipped on the rug, while Thorin collapsed on his back next to him.

Before Bilbo could get worried about the post-coital embarrassment, Thorin turned on one side, seized him by his waist and dragged the intern to his large chest without a single word. Bilbo was seriously too well fucked to react with anything else but a noncommittal humming. With his small and soft body tucked against Thorin’s stronger frame, Bilbo looked furtively at his boss. Thorin’s hair was a tangled dark mass and his lips were a bit swollen. The recent pleasure had somehow softened his features and he appeared less stern and unapproachable than usual. He looked quite dishevelled; he also looked quite handsome. Bilbo felt the familiar twinge of dull pain between his cheeks, the soreness left by Thorin’s cock. Bilbo squeezed his eyes, lingering on the fresh memories of their passion, the ghost sensation of Thorin’s hands on his skin – those hands now distractedly placed on his back.

 _Wow_ , Bilbo thought.

“You are lovely,” Thorin said mockingly.

His tone and the deep, low laugh that came after froze Bilbo’s thoughts. He had not spoken aloud, hadn’t he? But he had. _Obviously_. Foolish as he was, Bilbo had said such a ridiculous thing: by now Thorin had surely guessed that he was completely smitten with him. Bilbo would have slapped himself if his boss had graciously left him some energy to spare. Overcome with shyness and self-reproach, Bilbo almost unconsciously backed away from Thorin’s embrace.

Thorin’s chuckle died immediately. His hands moved down and grabbed Bilbo by his ass, drawing him again into his arms. Thorin’s nose nudged Bilbo’s and he locked eyes with him.

“I mean it,” Thorin said firmly. “You _are_ lovely,” he repeated, this time with great seriousness. Thorin probably saw some scepticism still lingering in Bilbo’s gaze, because he pressed their foreheads together, and said “Wow,” in such a pleased tone that Bilbo could not help smiling back.

Bilbo settled more comfortably against Thorin’s chest and they stood in silence for a while, both catching their breath and thoughts. They would probably regret laying on the rug, their skin humid and quickly cooling, their limbs surely far from comfortable on the floor, but for the moment they were quite contented with looking at each other. Thorin’s fingers tickled the skin behind Bilbo’s ear and down his neck, and Bilbo practically purred.

“How do you feel about pancakes?” Thorin asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Pancakes?” Bilbo asked, blinking. Thorin nodded.

“I prefer them with maple syrup,” he continued quietly, and Bilbo thought that somehow it seemed quite an appropriate choice on Thorin’s part. Classic dressing. “But I can make you pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate chips,” Thorin added, with the utmost solemnity.

“You can actually cook pancakes,” Bilbo said, a bit stunned and confused by the whole exchange.

“And I’m very good at it,” Thorin said back, looking quite eager to defend his own cooking skills. “I was hoping my nephews would sing my praises to you,” he confessed, his lips breaking into a crooked smile.

It took a few moments for Bilbo to understand, but by the time he had grasped the implication he was already smiling back. And probably looking like a grinning idiot, if the strain of his jaw muscles was something to go by. But Thorin did not seem to mind at all, since he kept his intern close and leaned slightly, his mouth almost on Bilbo’s.

“So, will you let me serve you breakfast, Baggins?” Thorin asked, in that irresistible voice of his.

“You mean...” Bilbo murmured, his eyes bright.

“I mean,” Thorin offered, “taking you home, cleaning ourselves up and then putting you into my bed. Sleeping with you naked and wrapped around me, and eating breakfast in the morning. Then, if you please,” said the always perfect gentleman, “I shall fuck you again. Properly this time, in my bed.”

Bilbo wondered for a moment what Thorin meant by _properly_ , and it was enough to make him _mewl_. Thorin grinned.

“Then, what do you say?” Thorin asked, looking fondly at Bilbo, his fingers tracing the curve of Bilbo’s spine.

“Can we have also a second breakfast?”


End file.
